


Astoria Greengrass and the Legilimens of Hogwarts

by PerfidiouslySnatching



Series: Astoria of Slytherin [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Also the Lestranges are rated M themselves, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Astronomy, Awkward Flirting, Azkaban, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Dark Arts, Dark Mark (Harry Potter), Death Eater Draco Malfoy, Death Eaters, Dementor's Kiss, Disapproving Family, Drama & Romance, Drastoria, F/F, F/M, French heritage, Friends to Lovers, Good Slytherins, Humor, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kissing, Legilimency (Harry Potter), Legilimency is also a complex issue, Moodypocalypse, Muggle-born Pride, Muggle-born Slytherin, Music, Occlumency (Harry Potter), Parkinson romanticizes the bad guy and it's a multifaceted issue, Pining Draco Malfoy, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, Spooky textbook, Theodore just wants some peace and quiet, Valentine's Day, Very Brief Animal (Bird) Death, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:13:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 131,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23250760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfidiouslySnatching/pseuds/PerfidiouslySnatching
Summary: "You're not secretly a Legilimens, are you?" Astoria asked."What if I was?" Draco asked quietly in turn. "You'd be more careful, wouldn't you?""I'd have to be."--Book 1: Astoria Greengrass and the Muggle-Born SlytherinBook 2: Astoria Greengrass and the Haunt of AzkabanThis is Part 3 in the series. I highly recommend them read in order to make sense. :)--Astoria Greengrass starts to untangle her feelings for Draco Malfoy, but his feelings for her aren't so clear. As far as their budding relationship goes, it isn't ideal that Astoria sees more of Pansy's rage than Draco's affection on any given day.Astoria tries to put her energy elsewhere -- writing music and studying the furtive art of Legilimency (which she isn't sure is totally legal).But no amount of Legilimency could have warned her to the secrets Draco was keeping just out of reach.*Seriesupdate schedule:Saturdays
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass & Aurora Sinistra, Astoria Greengrass & Original Female Character(s), Astoria Greengrass & Theodore Nott, Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Aurora Sinistra & Severus Snape, Bartemius Crouch Jr./Aurora Sinistra, Draco Malfoy & Moaning Myrtle, Draco Malfoy & Theodore Nott, Hestia Carrow/Original Female Character(s), Remus Lupin & Original Female Character(s)
Series: Astoria of Slytherin [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1462606
Comments: 46
Kudos: 56





	1. Dragon Pox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) is located here.
> 
> Chapter 1 - "Bookworm" by Margot and the Nuclear So & So's

The Ministry of Magic had raided the manor. Every talisman was confiscated, every suspicious object was taken for testing, and if Draco Malfoy was not mistaken, a kleptomaniac was part of the investigation squad and had grabbed more than enough innocuous peacock-feather quills. A thorough job, however, was not necessarily a perfect one, and whilst Draco, his mother, and his friend Theodore Nott were trying to unwind in the drawing room, he could hear what the Ministry most wanted walking round the floor above.

“Where’s my room?” demanded Theodore, eager to lock himself up before he could be greeted by the other tenants.

It wasn’t a question Draco could answer, but his mother was not going to say a word to someone who spoke to her so sharply. The resulting silence made the shuffling noises above much clearer. Draco stood, and, to draw the answer out of her, said, “Mother, I’ll show him to his room.”

“Room fifteen in the east wing should be befitting,” she said into her teacup.

It was a miracle that the young men did not encounter the strangers on their way upstairs, since Theodore could not keep his voice low as he criticised the method of the rooms’ numbering and started describing his proposal of a new, “correct” one.

“I suggest you stay in here until I come and get you,” Draco said whilst Theodore was scanning his room.

“Put in a good word for me, Draco,” he said quietly, “if they require one.”

Theodore locked the door.

Draco once more sat across from his mother in the drawing room. He waited for her to speak first. Her voice would have filled the room under normal circumstances. She was the type of mother who had to know everything –– how school had been, when his reports would arrive, how much he had eaten on the train home, if he was tired.

Nothing.

The emptiness of the room only reminded Draco of how full the house should not have been.

“She’s excited to see you,” Draco’s mother whispered.

The words were right, but the tone was wrong. He was being warned about meeting his own aunt in the minutes to come.

Bellatrix Lestrange was an uncomfortable image to behold. Her hair was coiled artificially and spread above and across her like a mangled wedding veil. Her eyes were wide open, soaking in the image of her nephew. The eyelids, which initially drooped, were forced upward into layers. She was wearing clothing that was twenty years too young for her; she had aged into her mid-forties in prison. She seemed uncertain of her faculties and teetered like a toddler. She clenched and unclenched her fists as if gripping hands that were not there.

“You were right, Cissy. He looks exactly like his father.”

Nobody over the age of thirty ever said anything else upon first meeting Draco. Bellatrix embraced him, filling his nose and mouth with the stench of her lemon balm perfume. She wasted no time in bringing up a dispute that Draco’s mother had never brought him to see “Auntie Bella.” It amazed Draco that Bellatrix seemed not to know why she had been so neglected in prison. The embrace she provided was as cold and gristly as her leather vest. When she touched Draco’s hair, he constricted. She seemed hardened to the motion, and Draco did not want to know why.

The only hints that the ring on her left hand meant anything soon walked in to meet Draco. Bellatrix’s hairy husband, Rodolphus, was still a mammoth creature despite his time in Azkaban. In this, he differed greatly from his wife and brother: drained, wriggling beings who craved the prey they needed to make up for the lost weight. Rodolphus looked Draco up and down and forcibly patted him on the back to see if his knees would buckle. They did. The brother, Rabastan, made no extra contact but instead placed his hands behind his back and looked to the ceiling, bored. He seemed to enjoy flaunting the scars and the hole on the left side of his head; he owned both of his ears only a few months ago.

“Nott’s son here?” Rabastan asked.

“He is,” Draco responded.

“Hiding?”

Rabastan grinned with sharp, crooked teeth, but Draco felt repulsed by much more than the man’s smile.

“No,” Draco said with more force than he should have. “He’s unpacking.”

Draco found himself retrieving Theodore sooner than either young man expected. The unwelcome trio’s inspection of Theodore was quicker than Draco’s, but the results were less satisfactory. If Draco was not mistaken, his aunt and her cohorts intended to bring the flimsy Nott to tears.

“Sad news about your mummy, Teddy,” Bellatrix clucked. “She was so _young_ , wasn’t she? Much younger than your father. What got her in the end again, Teddy? Not her hæmophilia, was it? Or her asthma?”

Theodore could have passed for a wax figure.

“Oh, poor boy, he doesn’t remember,” said Bellatrix, grabbing Theodore’s arm in no comforting fashion.

“He remembers,” grunted Rabastan. “Don’t you, Nott? It was a nasty––”

“Motorcar,” Theodore rasped.

“Bella,” Draco’s mother interjected. She was ignored.

“Surely she wasn’t _driving_ it?” chuckled Rodolphus.

“Hit her, didn’t it? Countryside road. You were all on holiday. I heard she lost a leg straight away,” Rabastan said.

“No, it was definitely an arm, Rabastan,” Bellatrix upheld.

“ _Bella_.”

“We’ve always tended to use your mum as an example, Ted,” Rodolphus yawned, “when we’ve run into Muggle-lovers.”

“ _Filth_!” screeched Bellatrix. “ _Traitors_!”

The colour had been sluiced from Theodore’s skin.

‘ _Get him away from these people_ ,’ Draco’s mother said with only a look in her eyes.

Theodore was quickly relocated to the room next to Draco’s.

At the first weekend of summer, Draco and Theodore spent their time trying to compose letters to their fathers, who were being temporarily detained at the Ministry. Draco’s mother, who was supposed to be helping him think of things to say to his father, was much too affected to put anything into words. In an attempt to protect her son from the stress of the hopeless trial, she forbade him from attending and instead insisted that he stay at home and look after his ailing grandfather. Draco certainly fought her about it, but he soon realised that he neither wanted to witness his father receive a life sentence nor leave his grandfather alone with the Lestranges. On the morning of the first of July, Draco’s mother and Theodore set off to see the splitting of several families whilst Draco mixed up potions for his grandfather, who was honestly beyond help. He had not responded to treatment for his dragon pox at the hospital and was left to spend his remaining days without the company of his only child. Draco’s mother believed that the old man was too sick to realise what was going in the house, but the first thing he said to Draco when he entered the sickroom was, “Lucius meets the Wizengamot today, does he?”

“…Yes,” Draco had to admit to his occasionally lucid grandfather.

The old man sat up, bringing the green shade of his skin into the light of the lamp.

“Never was careful, that Lucius. Never was. I was _always_ careful.”

Typically, Draco would have started a row with someone who insulted his father, but if anyone had room to talk about Lucius Malfoy, it was the man who raised him. Draco carefully handed his grandfather the medicinal potion he had slaved over only to have the old man refuse it.

“Now might be a time for me to say something pitiful such as ‘You are watching over me now, though I once watched over you,’” the old man said as he shook away the goblet. “But I didn’t watch you, did I? Here or there, perhaps. Yet it always seemed to me that Lucius and your mother hogged you.”

For a moment, Draco tried to think of a response, but he guessed it was better to simply let the sick man talk.

“That’s the way I kept Lucius away from _my_ father, see,” he coughed. “He was always doing the thinking for me, making the decisions for me. But I didn’t want him putting any ideas into Lucius’s head about living a quiet life. I said, ‘Lucius, if you want to get into politics, go right ahead.’ He was a fine boy; he could do whatever he wanted. So that’s what he did. He got involved in politics, but not before he got involved with those Riddle bastards. And so, I thought yesterday, maybe if I had let my father step in once in a while, your father wouldn’t be going to Azkaban.”

“He’ll get out,” Draco said instinctively, but the cyclic thought presented itself as irrational in speech. Draco’s grandfather looked at him the way someone might look at a child who thinks that thunder is the sound of angels bowling.

“Draco, listen to me,” said the old man quietly, and Draco understood that he needed to come in closer. Only since his grandfather had passed the contagious phase of dragon pox was he comfortable being near him.

“These people in the manor are not to have their hackles raised. They’re not––” Draco’s grandfather said, pointing a shaky finger to the side of his head.

“I’m keeping as far as I can, Grandfather; believe me,” Draco whispered.

The sick man grunted and said as firmly as his ailment allowed, “In the wall, behind that portrait of your grandmother Nora, there’s a box. The password is ‘Phasianadæ,’ but it’s Nora who might give you a hitch or two. Now, in the box is the key to my personal vault in Gringotts. Take whatever you need to leave the manor when it becomes necessary.”

Draco threw his grandfather’s words to the back of his mind. That evening, when his mother and Theodore came home, Draco did not need to ask them how the first day of the trial had gone. He spent the following morning helplessly watching his grandfather deteriorate. When his mother and friend came home that second day, they brought news of the verdicts with them. Draco’s father had been given a life sentence, and though Theodore’s father had been given a sentence of twenty-five years, all knew that it would fill the rest of the older man’s life.

Theodore spent most of the afternoon at Draco’s side because he was afraid to be alone in the Malfoy Manor. Draco could not blame him, but it was not easy to have the fidgety companion nearby when Draco and his mother were on a death-watch. Draco’s grandfather made things worse by refusing to speak to his own daughter-in-law; he apparently blamed her for having the Lestranges in the house. Draco, and even Theodore, understood that she had no other choice, but nobody was going to argue with a dying man. Each time he fell asleep, everyone felt it could be the last time, but he continued to wake. Cruel impatience stirred within Draco. He tried to remind himself that this was much harsher on his grandfather than it was on him.

It was past midnight when Draco’s grandfather told him in a daze, “I’m dying, Lucius.”

Draco didn’t feel so impatient anymore and wondered why he had had such a feeling in the first place. Everything in his life was going wrong already, and now his only grandparent left was breathing his last. Draco’s eyes burnt, and, to comfort his suffering grandfather, he forsook his own goodbye and said, “I’m here, Father. I’m here.”

The funeral was scheduled to take place on the upcoming Friday.


	2. The Witching Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) is located here.
> 
> Chapter 2 - "Laura" by PHOX

“There you have it –– front page. The whole lot of ’em’s on the way to Azkaban.”

Rhiannon Clarke laid the copy of the _Evening Prophet_ back on one of the glossy tables in the Greengrass family’s enormous library. She intended to read it within the hour before dinner, but at the moment, she was more curious to see what her best friend was reading with such concentration.

“Rhiannon, what is an Inferius?” asked Astoria Greengrass, whose fingernails were fraying the edges of the latest leaflet sent by the Ministry of Magic.

“It’s basically a zombie,” Rhiannon replied.

Astoria looked up for a moment, nodded unconvincingly, and looked to the leaflet once more, futilely turning it over to the blank side in the hopes that there was more information. Rhiannon inferred that the word “zombie” was not part of Wizarding lingo. Astoria was too embarrassed to admit that the explanation did not reach her.

“Scary thought, Inferi,” Rhiannon said. “Y’know, even if I was a Dark witch, I think I’d skip the Inferi. Don’t got it in me to order corpses about. And I’ll bet they niff something awful.”

Astoria looked horrified; Rhiannon knew she had made the matter clear.

Life at Quennell Park was something Rhiannon had got used to in a matter of hours. Though she felt as though she were a foreign component, she enjoyed the luxuries of her host family’s house so immensely that she wanted to think of no other time in her life. She had stayed there before, but her last trip had been wrecked by romantic drama. This time, she could appreciate it all. A mere doorknob in Quennell Park put the entirety of Rhiannon’s former flat to shame. Everything was so remarkably clean that Rhiannon never had a difficult time finding her reflection. The very best part was that no one at the estate was ever high, drunk, or trying to hurt her. If it wasn’t for You-Know-Who’s being on the loose, Rhiannon felt she would not have a care in the world. Then again, if he wasn’t out there, she might still be in London with her abusive mother. Indeed, the worst thing that the lady of _this_ house had ever done was persuade Rhiannon to press flowers with her and her daughters whilst she complained that her book club was no longer meeting on account of the war.

Those days that Rhiannon had spent at the estate that summer had been running together when, normally, she would have been counting the days until her return to Hogwarts. At Quennell Park, she was eating as few as three and as many as five meals per day. She and Astoria passed the time jamming in the music room, playing in the game room, reading in the library, and enjoying the weather in the spectacular gardens. Rhiannon even had the opportunity to go horse riding for the first time in her life. The only shortage of luxury was that there was no place to swim. Rhiannon suggested to Astoria that the family get a pool, since it couldn’t be a difficult task with magic. Astoria shot the idea down.

“Don’t like swimming because it gets your hair wet?” Rhiannon goaded.

“No, we have a ghost who roams the grounds, remember?” Astoria said, tying up a small book of pressed flowers.

Rhiannon figured a ghost would spoil any pool party, but Astoria looked at it differently, saying, “He might take offence.”

“Really? I never seen a ghost.”

“My parents and Daphne try not to cross paths.”

“Huh. Well, ghosts aren’t like Inferi. They won’t harm you,” Rhiannon tried to comfort her. “Think of Professor Binns!”

Rhiannon thought Astoria’s parents had been scaring her unnecessarily because they liked to keep her under their thumbs. Astoria didn’t acknowledge the connection between her ghost and Professor Binns, yet she did not need comforting anyway.

“Oh, I know,” she said behind her flowers. “I’ve always talked to him.”

~

“What’s troubling you, dear?” Mrs Ciel-Greengrass asked Astoria over one of the many meals that looked bizarre but tasted great.

Rhiannon knew it had to be the Inferi, but Astoria was not going to admit to her parents and grandparents that she had read anything in the mail that disturbed her. Astoria’s older sister, Daphne, did not care to read anything other than letters from her friends. With Astoria, though, the Greengrasses felt it was necessary to outright discourage her from keeping up with current events. In fact, she would not have known anything about the news if it hadn’t been for Rhiannon snatching Astoria’s grandfather’s _Prophets_. Astoria made an excuse about being tired at the table.

“You haven’t been reading the obits, have you?” Rhiannon asked when she saw Astoria lingering on the page in question on her balcony.

She felt guilty for giving a sheltered girl like Astoria the whole newspaper at once. Then again, she didn’t exactly want to play the older sister role in the absence of Daphne’s interest.

“I always read the whole newspaper,” Astoria responded distractedly.

“Know anybody?” Rhiannon asked.

Astoria gave her a hard look that meant Rhiannon had said something loutish.

“As it happens,” Astoria said quietly, and then she stopped. Her eyes scanned words Rhiannon at once needed to know. Astoria handed over the paper in a frustrated manner; Rhiannon had leaned too far over her. Yet once Rhiannon had the obituaries in her hands, she found that nobody’s name jumped out at her.

“Astoria, who died?”

“Draco’s grandfather.”

Only then did Rhiannon spot the old Malfoy’s write-up. She did not care to read it; the article a few pages back regarding the upcoming release of her band’s album, _Fylth_ , took precedence over the obituary of someone who hated Muggle-borns, and, therefore, hated her.

“The funeral is Friday,” Astoria mentioned.

“Mmm,” Rhiannon grunted. She spotted the advertisement for their album and perked up, saying, “Look!” to Astoria.

“Yes, I saw.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“Well, _we_ know when it’s being released, don’t we?”

“You and Abraxas Malfoy were real close, were you?” Rhiannon said, irritated.

First of all, Astoria had given up sleep the night before recording _Fylth_ to spend time with Draco Malfoy, who had always raced to the finish line of the idiot marathon. Secondly, Astoria chose to help Draco out of several bad hexes at the start of summer instead of meeting Professor Lupin, Rhiannon’s all-time favourite teacher. With those two incidents fresh in mind and several more offenses tucked back in her memories, Rhiannon was going to be the first to tell Astoria that she was not getting lugged off to some racist’s funeral. Astoria did not take the reprimand very well.

“I think Draco would show up to _my_ grandfather’s funeral if, Heaven forbid, he were to pass.”

“Astoria, the whole country would attend your grandfather’s funeral so they could squeeze their names on the visitor’s list,” Rhiannon responded, and since Astoria knew she was right, she again told her family that nothing was wrong when they asked her at dinner.

Rhiannon’s sleep at Quennell Park was always deep, restorative, and undisturbed, so when she heard the sound of knocking at her window late that night, she sprang awake with the notion that the Death Eaters had come to lynch her. If only she had closed the curtains…

“Open the window, Rhi,” a girl’s barely audible voice called through the glass.

Rhiannon had her wand drawn but, since the glass would create a glare, she was relying on the light of the visitor’s wand to discern her identity. All signs pointed to Hestia, but Rhiannon was painfully conscious of the powers of Polyjuice Potion and was anything but keen to open the window. On top of that, the visitor’s hair was four times longer than it had been not a week ago.

“What’s my middle name?” Rhiannon asked for lack of a better inspection.

“Nicole,” the visitor shouted in order to be heard.

“What song did we write together on our album?” Rhiannon grilled.

“What?”

“I said, what song did we write together on _Fylth_?”

“None,” the visitor responded sulkily.

With her wand still aimed at the window, Rhiannon backed away and opened the top drawer of one of her beside tables. A broken piece of Foe-Glass showed no new shadows, and Rhiannon promptly unfastened the locks and opened her window.

“What’s wrong, Hestia? You in hot water at home or something?”

With a weather-beaten broom from the seventies in hand, Hestia senselessly tiptoed into the bedroom as if the sound of walking was sure to awaken anyone who had not already heard the girls shouting through the glass.

“I’m always in hot water at home,” Hestia remarked.

“They kicked you out?”

“I kicked myself out for the night. They won’t let me write anyone.”

By “they,” Rhiannon knew that Hestia meant her violent aunt and uncle and not her father. It saddened Rhiannon to know that the only time Hestia could leave the house safely was at such a ridiculous hour. It reminded Rhiannon of all the times she had to camp out at the flat of her Muggle friend, P.R.

“Charmed your hair back?” she asked. Hestia’s hair had been cut to nearly nothing by accident, but Rhiannon had thought she was going to keep it that way.

“They took one look at me,” Hestia said. “They said they need me to look like Flora –– ‘in case.’ I don’t know what You-Know-Who would want with a couple of fifteen-year-olds. It’s not like we can hold up Gringotts just because we look alike. But they must have some ideas, because they threatened to hex my face thinner and burn the inside of Flora’s wrist so we’d look exactly the same.”

Rhiannon swallowed. She didn’t know Hestia had a burn on her wrist, and she hoped the reason she hadn’t noticed it was because it wasn’t a bad one.

“Who burnt you?”

“Oh, don’t worry. It was the rim of a cauldron. It’s only a little scar.”

Hestia put her broom against the wall and sat in the chair by the vanity. She picked up the hand mirror and quickly sneered at her reflection for no good reason. Nearby, there was a cluster of little tins and decoratively cut glass containers that Hestia examined next.

“You could put all sorts of potions ingredients in these,” she said. “What’s in ’em, face powders? Rich person dust?”

“Er, I guess so.”

Hestia sprayed one of the atomisers she had spotted and immediately regretted releasing the pungent, twenty-year-old formula. Walking away from the affected area, she glanced at the cameos on the wall and appreciated one particular watercolour of a woodland scene before nearly toppling over the quilt rack.

“Did you get to pick your room?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Rhiannon said. “I, er, basically picked the one with the most knickknacks in it.”

Hestia turned and looked at Rhiannon through the net of one of many dream catchers on the bedposts. In that moment, Rhiannon thought she heard people speaking in the distance. When she tried to heighten her senses to the sound, though, it did not come back. She really hoped that she did not wake Astoria’s parents up; guests receiving guests at a quarter past midnight was naturally frowned upon.

“They don’t need this much space,” Hestia commented.

“Apparently, the whole family used to live here, so I guess it wasn’t _as_ bad,” Rhiannon recalled from a conversation with Astoria. “I’m told Asenath’s parents used to have this room.”

“Oh. Asenath. Lovely,” Hestia said sharply.

“I didn’t know that when I picked the room. I only liked all the stuff they left behind,” Rhiannon said because she thought she ought to explain herself.

“Well, they have the money to leave their things behind,” grunted Hestia. “Speaking of money, Alecto and Amycus took all of mine and Flora’s cash again.”

“What? How? It’s in your vaults…” Rhiannon questioned over the definite sound of someone’s footsteps down the hall. She reached for the fluffy, cotton robe she was provided with, which she usually forgot to wear, and put it on for fear that the high-society people would be offended by the sight of her pyjamas.

“They said they’d hurt Dad if we didn’t withdraw it all. We have to do it each month until we go to school. Then we have to take it out during Christmas and Easter holidays. They give us a fraction.”

Rage boiled in Rhiannon’s veins, but it didn’t provide her with any solutions. People that manipulate others tend to know exactly how to prevent justice from being handed to them.

“Don’t tell Astoria. She’ll get all weird about it,” Hestia alleged. “Really, no one can do anything. But I wanted you to know why our bank statements aren’t going to be bringing smiles to our faces anymore.”

“A-All right. Hestia, I’m sorry…” Rhiannon exhaled. She wanted to tell Hestia that the problem would be solved one day, but that was an insultingly baseless statement.

“You’re kidding. _Silk_ pillowcases?” Hestia said distractedly, running her fingers across the fabric.

Just then, Rhiannon heard the door to her personal sitting room open and more than one person run in. The noise startled both girls into only the sorriest of defensive stances, and when they came face-to-face with two Aurors, they had no choice but to shut up and drop the wands which they couldn’t _legally_ use anyway.

“ _Hominem Revelio_ ,” the taller Auror said through the cloth of his mask.

As Rhiannon knew, no other presence was there, but the gravity of her blunder was crowding her instead.

“Where are you keeping Rhiannon Clarke?” demanded the other Auror.

“ _Tonks_? Tonks, it’s me! It’s Rhiannon!” she responded, putting her arms down.

It was the wrong move. Both Aurors cast the Full-Body Bind curse on the girls, but only Hestia was lucky enough to fall on the bed. Rhiannon hit the floor.

“Whadda we got on the Carrows?” the male Auror asked, stepping toward Hestia.

“Nothing different from what we’ve ever had,” Tonks said frustratedly.

“This Carrow might not be under Polyjuice.”

“We don’t have time to wait for Polyjuice either way. We have to test them both.”

Tonks waved her wand across Rhiannon’s face.

“Talk.”

“It’s me!” Rhiannon insisted. “Hestia came to the window; I let her in! She lives ages from here and came by broom!”

“What’s your Ministry of Magic Identification Number?”

 _Damn it_.

“I’m sorry; I don’t remember, but you gotta believe it’s me. This is an honest mistake! Where’s the Greengrasses?”

“We’d better get this test going,” Tonks said to her companion. “I’ve got this under control; you go help search the area.”

The other Auror left, and Tonks moved toward Rhiannon’s bedside carafe, using Scarpin’s Revelaspell to discern that it was, in fact, water. Rhiannon was beyond exasperated with the situation and wished that Tonks would listen to her so that everyone could carry on with their night. Tonks poured a glass of water and added a phial of blue liquid before giving it to Rhiannon.

“Drink this.”

“You really need truth serum to believe me? Come on, you and me met at King’s Cross the other day!”

“This isn’t truth serum. It’s a diuretic,” Tonks said sternly. “Drink it.”

“ _What_?”

“It’s new. We have to test you for Polyjuice Potion –– get cracking.”

 _It could have tasted awful_ , Rhiannon thought, trying as hard as she could to look on the bright side whilst she had no choice but to jimmy in a cup. Hestia had been given the same evaluation, and both girls turned up clean. They were then ushered into the drawing room where a very weary Astoria was directed to ask specific, personal questions of both girls and report to the trio of Aurors how accurate their answers were. One of the most important questions asked, coming from Mr Greengrass himself, was how Hestia had known that Rhiannon was at the estate –– the information was supposed to be strictly confidential.

“She told Astoria she’d be with her after seeing Professor Lupin when we were at King’s Cross,” Hestia answered nervously. “I saw her leave with all of you. I guessed she was staying here for at least a while. She’s never been that happy on the trip back to London…”

“How did you know which room she was in?” Tonks pressed.

“I didn’t. I, er, looked in some windows…” Hestia said in a way that told everyone she had looked in nearly all the windows that did not have the curtains drawn.

Astoria, her parents, and her grandparents all gave Rhiannon and Hestia very harsh looks, much like the one Daphne had already been giving them. To top off the awful feeling Rhiannon had been cultivating, not a soul in the house was laughing about the matter once the whole ordeal was finished. Tonks went beyond the call of duty to comfort Mrs Ciel-Greengrass, who had been in a panic attack for nearly an hour. Daphne stormed off to bed after giving Rhiannon the worst look she could etch onto her porcelain face, and Mr Greengrass spent the better part of fifteen minutes lecturing Rhiannon about security and criticising Hestia for having this idea in the first place. With the Aurors gone, Astoria’s grandmother, Mrs Mosby-Greengrass, mumbled that the house-elves would see to “our ill-timed guest” and that she was going back to sleep. Mr Greengrass demanded that Hestia leave by Floo powder for her safety and implied that he was really beyond caring how long she intended to stay. Once he and the other adults retired and once Dimsie and Prissy had provided Rhiannon, Hestia, and Astoria with milk and biscuits, Rhiannon felt that she had no will to do anything but go back to sleep herself.

“So,” Hestia said into a room of silence, “nice Intruder Charms you have here.”

The comment granted Rhiannon a chuckle, but Astoria shook her head in annoyance.

“I haven’t even had the chance to ask you if you were in danger. What are you doing here?” Astoria asked.

“Well, I thought I’d pop in and see if you needed your pillow fluffed.”

“Hestia!”

“Listen, me and Flora don't have communication privileges. They’re driving me mad. I had to get out for a night.”

Astoria groaned.

“You know I never meant to break into your house,” Hestia added.

“I know –– I know,” sighed Astoria, and she drank her milk as though she wished something else was in it.

“I’m sorry for waking everyone up. But I paid my price –– I peed in the cup.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Astoria.

“They tested Rhi and me for Polyjuice. Too bad I left mine at home, or this fabulous night might never have ended.”

“You don’t mean you’ve made your own Polyjuice Potion,” Astoria gasped. “They’ll arrest you if they find something like that!”

“If I get arrested, they’ll have to bring in Amycus and Alecto, too, won’t they?” Hestia thought longingly. “Don’t give me ideas.”

“For what would you want a Polyjuice Potion?” asked Astoria, still flabbergasted.

“For what would I want half the stuff I make?” Hestia wondered. “I made an aphrodisiac the other day that turns your skin purple. I sold it in Knockturn for two Galleons a flask, without my usual labelling.”

“I wonder if your buyers had the evening they planned,” Rhiannon laughed.

“Depends on what their sweethearts’ favourite colours are,” Hestia said.

Astoria’s covered her mouth with her hands as if the gesture could stop the other girls from speaking so vulgarly, or at least that was how Rhiannon read her body language. Astoria surprised her, though, and revealed that she hadn’t really been listening when she started pouring out questions about Polyjuice Potion again.

“How long does it last?”

“The aphrodisiac‽” Hestia hooted.

“What…? No, no, the Polyjuice Potion you brewed.”

“Oh, it’s chewing gum. It’ll only last as long as the flavour does –– about fifteen minutes. I got about two-hundred pieces out of what I brewed over last Christmas. See, I didn’t let it simmer long enough, and so I thought, why not concentrate it? Mix in a little mastic? It’s the worst-tasting gum in the universe, and you have to keep swallowing hair, which is anything but easy, but it works.”

“Hestia, you’re a genius!” Astoria exclaimed about the same time Rhiannon was thinking it.

“I’m actually really bored,” said Hestia.

“No, no, this is great,” Astoria said, coming out of her drowsiness. “Listen, I have an idea…”

“You have an idea?” Hestia asked, stunned. “What would a Greengrass want with such a _disgraceful_ product?”

“You and I both want out of the house,” Astoria said grippingly. “Let’s switch places for a day.”

“What? Are you serious?” asked Hestia.

“Where are you going?” Rhiannon inserted.

Astoria lowered her voice before saying, “Your aunt and uncle surely wouldn’t mind if you went to a Malfoy’s funeral, would they?”

“Astoria, no!” Rhiannon heaved. “This is getting ridiculous. That’s too risky, especially for Hestia.”

“Eh, it’s more risky for Astoria than it is for me. My family was going to old Malfoy’s funeral anyway,” Hestia revealed. “But I don’t think you could pass for me. I’m different when I’m not round you lot.”

“Then tell me how you are,” Astoria said simply.

“Quiet,” Hestia said. “But wait till you see Flora. She’s practically a statue round Amycus and Alecto. You’re not going to be in tune to her enough.”

“Then let her know it’s me.”

“She’ll find out anyway; she’s my twin. But if I let her know beforehand, she won’t have it. I can’t even let her know I came here tonight; she’d go right off her rocker. Why don’t you go yourself? Not allowed?”

“I’m not even allowed to _ask_ ,” Astoria answered dramatically.

“This is outrageous,” Rhiannon said again, but no one was listening to her.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night with the gum,” Hestia said, fond of the prospect of some excitement. “How do I get in without setting off any alarms?”

“The Floo Network during calling hours,” said Astoria. “Here, take some extra powder so that your aunt and uncle don’t see yours deplete.

“Oh, this is excellent! We can brief each other about how to act!” Hestia said brightly.

“Really…? We’re _really_ doing this,” Rhiannon scowled.

“We get to spend the day together, Rhi,” Hestia smiled. “I didn’t want to go to that funeral anyway.”

“Well, I’m going back to sleep. Thank you so much, Hestia. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Goodnight all,” Astoria said.

When Rhiannon heard the girl walking up the stairs, she whispered to Hestia, “What’s up with her and this funeral?”

“Draco’s always smarmed round her,” Hestia said. “He’s been even smarmier to her than he was to Umbridge last year.”

“I know that, but… do you think he really fancies her?”

“I wouldn’t think so. If you grow up in the Wizarding world, you know to play up a blueblood Greengrass. Besides, he’s dating Parkinson.”

“Because Parkinson is a _real_ prize over Astoria.”

“Well, no, but she doesn’t room with Muggle-borns and have Squibs over for Christmas, does she? Malfoy’s fond enough of Parkinson.”

“He _looks_ at Astoria.”

“Yeah, so did you, Rhiannon,” Hestia said unwarrantedly.

“I––”

“Who cares anyhow? It’s their business if they want to fuss over each other. That’s what rich people do –– they fuss.”

Hestia ate the last of her biscuits and started a much-desired conversation about their album which lasted them until they were both ready for sleep. Hestia gave Rhiannon a rather agreeable hug goodbye before retrieving her broom from Rhiannon’s room.

“Hestia? The fireplace’s in here –– er, one of them is,” Rhiannon said when Hestia made for the front doors.

“Floo travel’s too noisy for this hour, Rhi. It’s best I go back the way I came.”

“I don’t think it’s best,” Rhiannon protested. “I think it’s dangerous.”

“Everything is dangerous,” Hestia said with a grin.

She kicked off her flight in the Greengrasses’ front gardens, the intermittent moonlight being her fickle guide home.


	3. More Unexpected Guests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my [playlist is located here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy)
> 
> Chapter 3 - "Name" by the Goo Goo Dolls

Astoria did not have very much time before her parents would realise she was gone, and she did not trust Rhiannon to cover for her. As the pair had discussed the previous night, Hestia and Astoria were going to meet in the washroom of the Burke Funeral Home in Diagon Alley, consume strands of hair and chew Polyjuice gum, and effectively switch places for the morning. Astoria was relieved that she had arrived in the correct fireplace at the funeral home, as it wouldn’t have been the first time her Floo Network travel was imprecise, and the results of that journey would have been disastrous. Hestia was twiddling her thumbs in the empty parlour, but when she saw Astoria, she jumped up and gave Astoria a stick of gum and a piece of her hair immediately.

“Chew this now,” Hestia said urgently, concerned as much as Astoria was about the ten-minute transformation lag which normal Polyjuice Potion did not have.

The girls stole away to the washroom, where Hestia took the liberty to cut a piece of Astoria’s hair. Astoria was outraged, but Hestia quieted her down with the assurance that she can have it charmed back. Hestia gave Astoria a small bag with a supply of her hair and gum and put Astoria’s hair in a similar bag.

“The hard part is the flavour. And the texture. And the smell,” Hestia said, and since both girls knew they would smell incriminatingly like Polyjuice Potion, provided Astoria with some strong cinnamon mints.

“You’re lucky I keep my mouth shut, because this isn’t totally going to do the trick on your breath. Now give me your clothes.”

The Polyjuice had yet to take effect, and the consequence was anything but comfortable. When Astoria finally felt her body morphing, the experience was such that she vowed to never take Polyjuice Potion again. On top of that, once she realised how much Hestia must have shrunk toward the ground, she became quite self-conscious. Even though Astoria knew exactly what had taken place, seeing Hestia’s reflection in the mirror was still startling. Standing next to her own image evoked horrifying memories of seeing Barty Crouch Jr impersonate her body. She tried to push away the imagery by telling herself that Flora and Hestia see their own images next to them all the time, being identical twins.

“You went to the washroom,” Hestia told her, chewing her gum reluctantly.

“You did too,” Astoria said.

“Wait –– what if someone sees me come in through the fireplace?” Hestia required, the stench of her breath watering Astoria’s eyes.

“It’s nothing. We use Floo travel within our house from one wing to another,” Astoria informed, becoming additionally offended by her own breath and cramming more cinnamon mints into her mouth. Not surprisingly, the taste of the Polyjuice was so bad that the taste of cinnamon was imperceptible.

“Right you do,” Hestia grumbled. “I’ll be off. Remember, if you run into a problem, Flora’s really clever and you ought to be fine.”

“Er, okay…” Astoria said, dreading moment when Flora would discover it was not her twin sitting next to her at the funeral.

As nonchalantly as she could, Astoria walked to the funeral parlour set up for Abraxas Malfoy. She did not take the chance to look at the whole reason why she was doing this. Sitting next to Flora felt a bit more reassuring than standing, but she had a feeling that Flora thought something was amiss already. What had Astoria done wrong in less than a minute? Perhaps she looked like a squirrel with the gum and mints puffing out her cheeks.

There was no music during the service, hymnal or otherwise, and Astoria considered the lack of it more slighting to the mourners than it was to the dead man, who might have written his wish to omit it. What sort of person didn’t like music? Then again, what sort of person had raised Lucius Malfoy, whose high-profile convictions were too terrible for Astoria to call to mind? She was glad that she was not attending this funeral under her own appearance after all. Everyone she saw there –– and there truly were not very many people –– looked exactly how children were told Death Eaters looked: pompous, malicious, and edgy. The population of You-Know-Who’s sympathisers seemed to have a hierarchy. Astoria could tell by the way they dressed and carried themselves. For once in her life, Astoria found herself mixed in the back of a room with people dressed in undecorated, two-piece robes. From her seat, she identified the backs of heads. Theodore Nott was stuck sitting by Crabbe, Goyle, and the latter’s mother. Across from them were the few Lofthouses who weren’t in prison. The next row held the sycophantic Strettons, the flashy Flints, the malicious Monkleighs, and a few individuals from the Ministry. Astoria had not spotted Parkinson in front of her and therefore did not bother looking behind her; the only people of any distinction in the room were Flora, Theodore, Draco, and herself. And if she had only kept the offended feeling off of her face, she might not have attracted more attention from the girl whose twin she was supposed to be.

“What’s wrong?” Flora whispered.

Thinking fast, Astoria whispered, “The shops are opening now,” opening her agonised mouth as little as possible.

“It isn’t like we can stand in them and hand people the album anyway,” Flora responded.

A horrible hiss came from the woman Astoria had definitively identified as Alecto Carrow. And if Astoria looked like herself, she would have given that woman a look that would make her wish she had never shown up to the funeral.

“What’d I tell you?” Flora said softly.

She already knew it was Astoria! Still, at least Flora could be trusted to keep the situation quiet, unlike Rhiannon, who was probably in the middle of telling the Greengrasses to come to the funeral and pick up their wayward daughter.

Not long after, it was time to pay respects before greeting the family, which pitifully consisted of only the deceased’s daughter-in-law and the grandson. Astoria approached the coffin, which had remained closed due to the awful skin condition. When Astoria saw that the mourners were all drawing their wands to conjure small flowers onto the wreath atop the casket, she panicked. Why hadn’t she and Hestia thought to exchange wands? As risky as it was to use another’s wand, it was not nearly as bad as the dilemma in which Astoria presently found herself. Perhaps she could hide her wand in her sleeve… Perhaps she could ask if Flora knew any way to change the appearance of Astoria’s wand… Perhaps she could ignore the protocol; Hestia had never been the most alert of young ladies…

Flora saved the day; she conjured two identical flowers when the two stopped by the casket. There was no way Astoria could thank her aloud; there was no way Astoria could thank her _enough_.

“Mr Carrow, Ms Carrow, thank you,” Draco delivered emotionlessly to the twins’ regrettable relatives. “Mr Carrow, thank you for coming…” he said to their father.

Draco looked utterly miserable –– the kind of miserable that was not simply part of being in a funeral parlour. He was not used to being the only Mr Malfoy at a ceremony and clearly detested greeting all of these people who had avoided prison at some point in their lives.

“Thanks, Hestia, Flora…” Draco said out of the girls’ processional order.

Astoria wondered how many more times she was to be called Flora when she was trying so hard to be a decent Hestia. Draco was closer in height to Hestia, like he had been in relation to Astoria when she had first met him. There was something weird about perceiving this smaller height difference again; it brought Astoria back to a time she couldn’t connect with anymore.

“Thank you, girls,” said Mrs Malfoy no more sincerely than her son had.

The next stop was the sitting room in which Astoria had arrived. Since the Carrow clan was not very high in You-Know-Who’s ranking, Mrs Malfoy and Draco were finished formally receiving the mourners in no time and arrived to exchange words with whomever would approach them over the next visitation hour. The three adult Carrows were busy gathering refreshments, and Astoria realised she needed her next piece of gum. Spitting the old ones out would have been too repulsive to view and could potentially implicate her, so she had only kept adding more. This plan was not as fail-safe as it had seemed the previous night, and she could barely talk. Sooner or later, someone was going to ask what she was eating throughout the funeral. She did not have much time. She strolled to the washroom, pondering the fact that Parkinson had been nowhere in sight. Stepping into a stall, she spit the huge wad of gum into toilet tissue and threw the evidence away. She had not anticipated how revolting this morning would be and desired to go home. However, having disposed of the old gum and having considered that Parkinson and Draco might have already split up, she set out to finish what she started.

Draco had sat down next to Theodore. Theodore noticed Astoria’s presence before Draco did and elbowed him.

“Hm? Flora?” Draco said, clearly wondering what on earth Flora would have to say to him.

“That’s not Flora; it’s Hestia,” Theodore said, paradoxically still incorrect.

Astoria carefully took the empty seat on Draco’s other side. Theodore looked past him confusedly, bringing more visual interest to the area than anyone undercover would have preferred.

“You’re both wrong,” Astoria murmured to Draco.

Draco turned, shocked. Theodore, who was too far from her to have heard, looked on concernedly whilst Draco was still at a loss for words. Hestia’s father arrived, patted Draco’s shoulder, and then offered Astoria a small bowl of fruit which Astoria mutely declined. He then shuffled over to Flora, out of earshot.

“…You came,” Draco said. “You’re mad.”

“What?” asked Theodore. “What?”

Draco shook his head at him, saying, “If you would shut it for one moment…” under his breath.

“Your parents are going to kill you, I assume?” he said to her.

“If my good friend is a poor actress,” Astoria said.

“I can’t believe you did this…” he said, a hint of amusement surfacing.

“You mean––?” Theodore cut in, having gleaned enough.

“Shut it,” Draco said again.

Astoria took another cinnamon mint.

“I’m sorry about your grandfather. I know he’s been sick for a while,” she said sympathetically.

“Yeah… thanks,” Draco said.

He more or less was not one to talk about those things.

“…So you really did this for me,” he changed the subject.

Astoria raised Hestia’s eyebrows. Obviously this was all for him, but did he really need to keep milking it? It wasn’t like this Polyjuice gum allowed for much chit-chat.

“No, I came here for the buffet, Draco.”

She caught sight of the flash of a smile. It was what she came for: to bring any small smile to Draco during such a terrible, difficult time in his life. It was a skill which she had only recently discovered she possessed. She would not have gone through this much trouble if she did not believe it would make this much of a difference. But Draco had colour in his face and something positive to think. Those were things that everybody should have, and by acting as the provider of them, Astoria felt needed.

To feel needed by somebody who really did not need much in the world was quite special. Unfortunately, this was not the sort of environment that allowed her extra time to revel in the feeling. She and Hestia had to make the switch back before the Carrows went home, and there was no way Astoria could know when that would be. Additionally, Parkinson had just come in from the street with Millicent Bulstrode. Parkinson was clearly not supposed to be there; she had shopping bags on her arms that meant that Mr and Mrs Parkinson were less than supportive of their daughter’s relationship with Draco and did not know she had sneaked here for visitation. Millicent looked at Astoria in a way that nearly made her think her hair was darkening –– it was time to leave.

“Where are you going?” Draco asked when she said goodbye.

A few people looked; he never spoke to Hestia the way he had been speaking to the girl who looked like her. Astoria wanted more time to think about that matter, but Amycus had noticed that his supposed niece had been sitting next to a boy to whom she never spoke.

“I didn’t realise you wanted me to stay so badly,” Astoria said.

She couldn’t help herself. It was exactly the sort of thing he would have said to her. Instead of staying, though, she carefully retrieved Flora and made it look like they were off to the washroom. They turned into another sitting room, a fortunately empty one, and Astoria took some Floo powder out of Hestia’s robe.

“Pretty clever,” said Flora. “Pretty chancy.”

“Thank you for helping,” Astoria whispered.

“Sure, anytime you want to flirt with someone at a funeral, I’m the wing-witch for the job.”

“ _Really_ , Flora,” said Astoria as she threw the powder into the hearth.

“And next time, make sure you walk like Hestia instead of a little princess.”

“Good day, Flora,” Astoria said, leaping into the portal to home.

She stepped out of the fireplace in Rhiannon’s boudoir and hurried to the bedchamber, searching for her reflection. As far as Astoria could tell, there was “Astoria” sitting on Rhiannon’s bed. Rhiannon was sprawled horizontally along the bottom of the bed, carefully reading a newspaper.

“Any problems?” Astoria asked.

“Not yet,” said Hestia, spitting her gum into the dust bin and starting to remove her clothes.

Astoria, who became uncomfortable without delay, was not sure of how to get somebody who was wearing her body to stop stripping. She always felt small in the chest compared to other girls in her year, although Hestia and Flora were very similar to her.

“Change in there,” pressed Astoria, pointing to the boudoir.

“We don’t have time––”

“Change in there!”

“Believe it or not, I _do_ have it in me to not stare at people undressing!” Rhiannon hollered from her room.

Finally, everybody had the right clothes once more, and there were only a few minutes left until the Polyjuice would wear off.

“So, what did you think? Should I try patenting this?” Hestia joked.

“Absolutely not,” Astoria said, thinking of all the hair she had felt travel down her throat.

“The real potion’s not as bad,” Hestia chatted. “It’s more like taking medication –– it all goes down at once. I could have kept this in liquid form, but we’d have been sipping all the time, and that’s too obvious ever since––”

Astoria was shaking her head and shifting her eyes toward Rhiannon, trying to let Hestia know not to talk about things regarding Barty Crouch Jr near her, but Hestia ruined the entire subtlety by saying, “What?”

“It’s fine, Astoria,” Rhiannon uttered.

Astoria knew better. It was never going to be fine.

“What’s––? Oh, oh –– Oh, no… I…” Hestia faltered.

“We’re changing,” Astoria diverted once she felt Hestia’s silky, straight hair being replaced by frizz she would have to tame soon. “I came from the Nightingale Room. Flora should still be in there.”

Hestia vanished in the green flame along with Astoria’s wish that everything would go smoothly back at the funeral home for her.

“Was she a very convincing Astoria?” she asked Rhiannon.

“Never knew Astoria to have rank breath, no,” Rhiannon said. “Go clean your teeth.”

For having spent the morning with a girl who was mad about her, Rhiannon was pretty grouchy. Rhiannon did not know the precise amount of trouble through which Astoria had to go in order to greet Draco at the funeral, but Rhiannon considered _any_ trouble inappropriate.

“I wanted to go to Diagon Alley today to see how the album was selling,” Rhiannon said resentfully as she walked with Astoria to the latter’s room. “Maybe sign a few.”

Thinking of how anyone who would ever want their autographs likely had them already, Astoria said, “But the problem is…?”

“Your mum said no.”

“Oh. Why would she?”

“She said ‘we afakest for zew-eekend,’” Rhiannon imitated cryptically.

“My mother does not sound like that,” Astoria sniffed. “What did you even say?”

“I’s asking the same question for a minute there this morning,” Rhiannon commented. “She said we’re having someone round for the weekend.”

 _Ugh_. Maybe it was Mrs Tonks again. Mrs Tonks was a good friend of Astoria’s mother, but the two women were at odds when it came to fleeing the country from the rising threat of You-Know-Who. Mrs Malfoy had warned Astoria’s mother that things really were getting worse, and no one was going to argue with the frightened informant whose husband usually set out You-Know-Who’s slippers in the morning. That is, no one would argue with her except her estranged sister, Mrs Tonks, whose small family intended to follow the rallying cry of those fighting the Dark forces.

Rhiannon was asking Astoria questions whilst Astoria was brushing her teeth, a fact that nearly caused Astoria to shut her bathroom door. Rhiannon wanted to know if it was family who was visiting, but Astoria said that her mother would have said “family” and not “a guest” if that was the case. Rhiannon then asked if the guest might be “Tonks,” as in Nymphadora Tonks, to whom Rhiannon wished to give an apology for the mess with Hestia. Astoria spit out her toothpaste prematurely and told Rhiannon that it was more likely going to be Nymphadora’s mother.

“You can send an owl to Nymphadora, you know,” Astoria said.

“You’re not supposed to write to Aurors about their operations. Letters can get stolen… read by the wrong eyes… Too many people know I’m here as it is.”

“Perhaps Mrs Tonks could relay the message. Otherwise, write her a vague letter of apology. Send it from Diagon Alley. It’s better than nothing.”

“Ah, it’ll do. Can I write it in there?” Rhiannon asked, referring to Astoria’s writing desk in her sitting room.

“You may, so long as the flannel from Philippe in there does not bother you,” Astoria replied. “Hestia told me I ought not to burn them so that I might have evidence of his unfaithfulness. I need a better place to store them.”

“A box in the attic sounds something proper,” said Rhiannon insightfully.

Astoria was in the middle of fixing her hair when Rhiannon came in and read the letter she planned to send to Nymphadora Tonks.

“‘ _Dear Tonks_ ,

_I wanted to say I’m sorry about causing you so much trouble. I definitely learnt my lesson. I hope you are well and can excuse my slip-up._

_Sincerely_ , _Rhiannon_ ’”

Astoria was glad that Rhiannon had resisted the urge to write something about _Fylth_. Rhiannon said that Nymphadora had expressed her interest in the album, but thankfully, Rhiannon had recognised what was appropriate and what was not.

“It’s perfect,” said Astoria.

“Yeah? Y’know, I thought… maybe I should add something about the album…”

_So she just forgot to mention it._

“No, not in this letter,” Astoria advised.

The girls were in the game room as dinnertime drew nearer, and Rhiannon was complaining as she threw darts into a board that she and Astoria could have been to Diagon Alley and back already. Astoria reasoned that if there was a crowd of fans seeking the album, the time that they would have arrived was long past in any case. It was a mistake to use that as an attempted placation, since Rhiannon soon after brought up the matter of the funeral again. If only Astoria had missed the funeral like Rhiannon wanted all along, they could have met their fans that morning.

“And what did you get outta going to that funeral? You saw Malfoy?”

The only way Rhiannon would have approved of it would have been if Astoria had gone to witness Draco crying.

“Of course I saw him,” said Astoria as Rhiannon made a bull’s-eye with her dart.

“What’d he say to you? You told him it was you, right? That was the whole point.”

“He told me I was mad.”

“That’s one of the few things he’s ever said that’s right,” Rhiannon said with a sigh, holding out the darts for Astoria to take. Astoria motioned for Rhiannon to continue, hoping that the activity would help Rhiannon release some of her anger.

“What? Forfeit, do ya?”

“I’m behind you by over fifteen points,” Astoria reasoned.

“It’s good practice for aiming spells, though,” Rhiannon said pointedly. “We should do this more often. I’m never gonna beat you in Wizard chess.”

“We shall, but not now. We should get ready for dinner.”

“I am ready.”

Rhiannon was absolutely not ready; she was in a T-shirt that had a hole in the back of the collar. Astoria understood that Rhiannon only had so many clothes, and she had been wearing them since she had moved to the estate, but there were plenty of other clothes they had given her. The issue was a highly sensitive one, and with Rhiannon’s mood the way it was, Astoria was afraid to bring it up. As Astoria was pondering different ways to avoid an argument, one between Astoria’s sister and father was emerging by the staircase and echoing throughout the event rooms.

“Well, Daddy, I didn’t get all dressed up for nothing! Don’t give me this rubbish about ‘poor taste!’ Look at you –– going to the table without your tie on! What has this place come to‽ All I hear lately is ‘tone it down;’ ‘lose the rubies;’ ‘that’s not necessary for sitting round the house!’”

“If you don’t lower your voice, young lady, you can sit in your room for dinner!”

“AT LEAST THAT WAY I’M ASSURED I WON’T _BE_ THE DINNER!”

“Do you want to stay there all weekend, Daphne‽ By all means, _keep talking_.”

“ _UGH_!”

With all the noise, someone might have thought one of the horses had galloped up the steps. Astoria shrunk back into the game room, scanning her outfit to see if there was anything she could make less impressive about it. There wasn’t; she had been wearing the same thing into which Hestia had put many wrinkles, and because that morning involved a mission with Polyjuice gum, Astoria had not put on any accessories or jewellery. She had formed a pretty good guess about the identity of the visitor and gave the frowning Rhiannon her best grin.


	4. The Patronus Charm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my [playlist is located here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy)
> 
> Chapter 4 - "Wolfman Agenda" by Shakey Graves

The Greengrasses had the notion that they were dressed casually, but that was something Rhiannon laughed about. They were relying on the stateliness of their house to make their outfits look more informal. Mrs Ciel-Greengrass wore a flowing wrap of coral, and Mr Greengrass wore a knit vest and something Rhiannon would have called “dress trousers” before she had met people who owned true dress trousers. Astoria’s grandparents had both decided to wear “something from last season” and call it a day. Daphne was still upstairs, and nobody seemed particularly concerned if she were coming back or not. Astoria did not get ready like she had originally wanted.

Mr and Mrs Greengrass had only wanted to surprise Rhiannon, and that was why they would not tell her or Astoria who the guest was. It made Rhiannon feel terrible about being angry all day; she hated when she knew she was wrong. Whilst she was thinking about whether or not she should act surprised for the Greengrasses’ sake, the melodious sound of the doorbells rang all throughout the mansion.

“Oh –– thank you,” said a voice which Rhiannon had known to be both strong and brittle.

That day it was brittle.

“Mister Remus Lupin!” announced Prissy, one of the Greengrasses’ house-elves, as she was struggling with two suitcases, one large, one small.

Everyone in the drawing room stood, and Prissy sent the bags away. Rhiannon thought all of these extra steps for receiving visitors were stupid. She could have opened the door herself. They could have skipped the formalities, the delays. Professor Lupin was spending the weekend at the estate, and Rhiannon did not want to waste a single second of it. Mrs Ciel-Greengrass kissed his cheeks because she was French. The old couple, Mr Greengrass, and Astoria all shook his hand because that was as well as they knew him. Rhiannon gave him a hug because nothing else would do.

“Rhiannon, Astoria, Professor Lupin is here to help you learn how to cast the Patronus Charm,” informed Mr Greengrass. “I obtained home-schooling vouchers for you this weekend. You will be able to use magic in the house until the midnight which begins Monday, even if none of our magic is nearby enough to disguise yours.”

He spoke as if it had been the easiest thing to do, as if the workers at the Ministry gave him anything he wanted.

Professor Lupin looked round the massive room curiously, and asked, “Am I teaching Daphne as well?”

“Daphne has not been feeling well today,” Mr Greengrass covered. “It is very important to us that she learns the Patronus Charm, so perhaps she will be able to start tomorrow.”

As the meal commenced, Rhiannon could tell how furious the younger Greengrass couple was that their eldest daughter refused to attend. It was in the way Mr Greengrass sugared his tea; it was in the way Mrs Ciel-Greengrass gripped her goblet of wine. But those were the only signs they showed. Their self-control made Rhiannon think of how nasty she tended to act whenever she felt slighted. Maybe she should not have bothered Astoria so much about going to the funeral –– someone died, after all. However, the only way she was going to be able to let it go was if she refused to think about it. It would be easier to do once they were busy learning Patronuses with Professor Lupin.

“I am slightly ashamed, Mr Lupin, that I do not have it in me to cast a corporeal Patronus Charm. I can give the instructions, but they mean nothing if I myself cannot follow them,” conversed Mrs Ciel-Greengrass, and the elder Greengrasses nodded heartily.

“We know of your success with teaching Harry Potter –– he was very young, wasn’t he? –– and of course, we want nothing less than the best for these girls. Trying times we’re in… Trying times…” said Mr Greengrass, not quite owning up to the fact that his Patronus had no animal form, either.

“Patronus Charms are exceedingly difficult to cast,” Professor Lupin said the same, tired line he must have said a thousand times since learning the charm himself.

“Even those who can cast a corporeal Patronus in a controlled environment may find themselves compromised in the company of a dementor.”

Astoria’s parents exchanged a shivery look; they were second-guessing their trust that a man who looked so worn and ill could teach two teenagers a decent Patronus Charm.

“Well, I did not come here to disappoint anyone,” Professor Lupin said lightly. “I do have strict orders from Professor Sinistra. I’m afraid, girls, that that means you will have to take what I teach you to school and continue practising.”

“Not if we can cast one by Sunday,” Rhiannon said.

After dinner, Prissy showed Professor Lupin to the ballroom, where Astoria and Rhiannon stood patiently whilst Professor Lupin began to absorb a better sense of the enormity of Quennell Park.

“When I asked for space…!” he muttered to himself, and then asked, “Is there any place to have a seat here, Miss Greengrass?”

“ _Accio chair_ ,” Rhiannon cast, and a comfy chair from the game room came soaring through the air. Rhiannon placed it by Professor Lupin as Astoria was pointing to the chairs that blended in along the wall in the ballroom –– but those ones hurt your back. Rhiannon Summoned two more decent chairs.

“Ah,” Professor Lupin said, settling his tired body into a chair that matched the décor of the ballroom hardly more than he did. “I suppose we should start with the incantation. It is ‘ _Expecto Patronum_.’ Careful on the accents, as always.”

He looked like he was expecting the girls to say the words they knew all too well. Rhiannon hated humouring people, but she said the incantation first, and Astoria awkwardly followed her lead.

“Sir?” Astoria then said, quite shyly.

“Yes?”

“How does one know if one cannot cast a Patronus Charm… no matter what?”

Professor Lupin smiled weakly, saying, “That is a great deal of pessimism coming from someone who has not even tried the charm yet. What makes you think you will never cast one? I hope I did not give you that idea by saying how difficult it is.”

“Professor Sinistra cannot cast one, sir,” Astoria said, avoiding her company’s eyes.

Professor Lupin leaned back in his chair and contemplatively ran a finger over the grizzled bristles under his scarred nose. He remained there, perhaps thinking of some kinder way to tell Astoria that Professor Sinistra’s lack of the skill was something of a given based on her life’s traumas. Even if that wasn’t what he was pondering, Rhiannon knew that any answer he would come up with would not be kind on Astoria’s emotions. Professor Sinistra was as much her hero as Professor Lupin was Rhiannon’s.

“She once could,” Professor Lupin said carefully, unsure of how much the girls knew of his former workmate. “It is not so much like riding a broom, though. Although you don’t ‘forget’ how to cast a Patronus Charm, per se, your… your heart can forget how to _allow_ you to cast one. A Patronus is created by pure happiness, from a very happy memory. The mind is a curious thing –– the bad memories it holds are often more pungent than the good. As you can imagine, it is hardly fair that the Patronus Charm requires so much happiness when it’s the only protection against a creature that eats your happiness away. I think going through a period of time when one cannot cast a Patronus Charm happens to _many_ people. Fortunately, most people never need to cast one. To be on the safe side, though, it is always a good idea to learn the charm. I believe you will be able to cast one.”

 _Yeah_ , _Astoria’s going to cast one long before me_ , Rhiannon thought. _Her life’s fine_.

Probably the most traumatic things Astoria was lugging round her brains were Cedric Diggory’s death and the things Rhiannon had told her about Jessica and Geoffrey, none of which had anything to do with Astoria herself.

“With that having been said…” Professor Lupin uttered.

He stood up, nodding at both girls so they knew to pay close attention, and drew his wand. He closed his eyes for a moment, heaved a sigh, and drew a minute circle in the air whilst saying the incantation. Immediately, a huge, airy figure jumped forth before spinning round and presenting itself proudly, with its chest puffed and its snout pointed steadily. It was a wolf, but it did not growl, nor strike, nor skulk round. It was pale, translucent, and almost twinkling. It walked, or maybe floated, gently past the girls before leaping out a closed window. Rhiannon felt so happy; the Patronus emitted so much positive energy.

“A dementor cannot harm anything that has no sadness in its being,” Professor Lupin said cheerfully. “Although a Patronus may seem like nothing more than dementor bait, it actually repels dementors. It is said that they fear a force that is powerful enough to survive their appetites. That force is actually within you.”

It was a little bit difficult for Rhiannon to hear the phrase ‘survive their appetites’ and much more difficult to believe that such a force was in her at all. She then wondered where her happiness from Professor Lupin’s Patronus had gone.

“Shall we begin?”

To Rhiannon’s surprise, Astoria raised her wand first. That wand had given her enough trouble with stupid things like Summoning Charms, and Rhiannon instantly wondered how the girl expected to have any luck with a Patronus Charm. That thought transposed –– would Rhiannon’s cheap, experimental wand refuse to channel a Patronus Charm as well?

With her eyes shut tight, Astoria said, “ _Expecto Patronum_.”

Not even the whisker of an animal shot out of Astoria’s wand.

“See, I said it is very difficult. Only the strongest concentration on the happiest of memories will produce a Patronus,” Professor Lupin said.

“ _Expecto Patronum_!” said a different voice.

The trio looked to the archway to find Daphne. She looked disgruntled on the first try.

“When did you get here?” Astoria asked.

“Moments ago,” answered Daphne. “I could hear you on the stairs. Everything in the ballroom echoes.”

“Miss Greengrass, are you feeling better?” Professor Lupin asked politely.

Daphne huddled next to her little sister, expecting protection from the smaller girl. She had already voiced her opinion about werewolves within Rhiannon’s earshot. Rhiannon had been having a better time when she thought Daphne would hide in her room all weekend. (Almost none of Daphne’s opinions were very good ones).

“I am as well as I shall be,” Daphne said priggishly.

“You’ve missed the demonstration,” said her sister.

“I shall manage,” Daphne said. “I had this class with him.”

Rhiannon knew that Daphne merely did not want Professor Lupin in her presence again. If she paid the slightest attention to Astoria’s ramblings about Astronomy, she would have known that Professor Lupin had already suffered through the transformation a few days prior and was not due to transform again until the very end of the month. But Daphne rarely gave Astoria the time of day.

“Very well,” Professor Lupin said, rapidly catching on to the fact that Daphne still did not approve of him. “Rhiannon?”

Rhiannon closed her eyes and drew a deep breath to relax. A Patronus Charm would be easier to cast if Daphne was not around. Rhiannon estimated that 1 Daphne Greengrass was equal to about 1/3 of a dementor. She might have even been making Rhiannon’s training more productive. Even with a long time to think about something happy to remember, Rhiannon had not done so. A real dementor wouldn’t have given her this much time.

Rhiannon thought of the very first time her Muggle guitar worked with magic… how the sounds she had not heard from it since she had torn up the electrical had emitted from it with ease… She remembered talking it over with Hestia about forming a band… a crazy idea, but Hestia was on board from the start… Nobody had as fascinating a guitar as Rhiannon’s, she had said… Rhiannon hated being cocky, but that ’62 Fender Jaguar was so much cooler than any ‘home-grown’ wizard could know…

“ _Expecto Patronum_!”

A few wisps of matter drifted from her wand and then faded. That was what disappointment looked like.

“I thought of my Fender. What’d you think of?” she asked Astoria, trying to get an idea about what sorts of happy memories weren’t quite happy enough.

“Oh, I thought of the time my parents allowed me to go to Hogwarts…” Astoria said.

“Well, Hogwarts wasn’t what you’d hoped,” Rhiannon laughed.

Maybe that was it. Rhiannon loved her guitar, and she loved the fact that she had a band. She even loved the members of her band. But the band still was not what Rhiannon had expected. Nothing in life was going to be perfect, but there were many things that could have been better. Pariah was one of them. Rhiannon was never sure if Astoria truly wanted to be in the band. She had the feeling that Flora was only in it because of Hestia and the guilty conscience for saying cruel things to Rhiannon when she first got the idea.

 _Then it_ ’ _s got to be something that ended up just the way I wanted it_ , Rhiannon noted.

“What did you remember, Daphne?” Astoria asked.

“That darling coat Pansy bought me for Christmas last year.”

Astoria’s expression hardened like fired clay.

“It is much easier to produce a Patronus from memories about people instead of things,” Professor Lupin said, encouraging them to try again.

Rhiannon considered his words. Although the Fender was from P.R., the permission to go to Hogwarts was from Mr and Mrs Greengrass, and the coat was from somebody at least _Daphne_ cared about, the focus of those memories was not the people themselves.

Rhiannon started to think of the time when Astoria invited her to stay at Quennell Park and when Rhiannon wrote her good riddance to Jessica. But she knew that memory would not make a Patronus; too many negative things had led up to it. She thought of the obvious –– of Professor Lupin befriending her in her second year –– but she was too afraid of the guilt she’d feel if memories involving him would fail her. So she thought of Astoria, but then she remembered Astoria letting her know that they were friends and nothing more. She was back to Hestia again. Brewing potions, doing homework, composing music… No, there weren’t very many bad memories with Hestia, even though the girl was a bit temperamental… But which memory to choose? No Patronus was going to birth from a wandering mind.

“ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” Astoria said peacefully, but nothing happened. She looked to the floor.

Trying to beat her sister, Daphne stirred up some memory she barely reflected on and grumbled through the results. Rhiannon was busy thinking of the time that Hestia pulled a mischievous little pepper pot out of her sleeve. Hestia had sprinkled it on Pansy Parkinson’s food, and _voilà_! Parkinson had antlers for a whole day.

“Nobody’s made something like this before,” Hestia had said intriguingly when they were safely hiding in the Astronomy Library. “The calculations were exhausting… I wished I’d not dropped out of Arithmancy…”

Her legs had been swinging serenely as she did the thing that Astoria had always nagged at her for –– sat atop a table.

“I didn’t make an antidote,” Hestia had giggled.

Whilst that memory was still clear, Rhiannon said “ _Expecto Patronum_!”, and the air was filled with a supple, fleece blanket of energy. Rhiannon twirled her free fingers round it and smiled gratefully at Professor Lupin. Neither Greengrass girl surpassed Rhiannon that evening.

~

“Do you suppose that the casting of a Patronus Charm, or the lack thereof, reflects how happy one’s soul is?”

Astoria posed too deep a question for the morning hour. She was brushing her hair at the foot of Rhiannon’s bed, and her talking was forcing Rhiannon to fight against the calming hug of her bedcovers.

“Astoria, it’s not even light out yet, and you expect me to chat about the philosophy of a Patronus Charm…?”

“It was a simple question, really…” Astoria said, trailing into a yawn.

“Profe––” Rhiannon said, caught Astoria’s yawn, then continued, “––ssor Lupin says it’s mostly how happy something in your head can make you in the moment. I guess a sad person can make a Patronus. He made one, din’ee?”

“You would say he’s not happy overall?”

“I’m saying he’s probably got a lot on his plate with this You-Know-Who issue. He’s close with Professor Dumbledore, so who knows what? Maybe the Order of the Phoenix is back in action. He told me he’s been having rough times. The poor man can’t get hired, Astoria. His body fights him each full moon and he sits there lapping up Wolfsbane from a dog’s saucer. And he talks to _me_ enough, so where do you think his actual friends are? He’s hinted… you know… they’re not with us no more. But he’s the Patronus boffin.”

Astoria did not look like she grasped it all, but it was her own fault for asking about this at six in the morning. Professor Lupin wanted to start early –– he was a very early bird for a werewolf. Rhiannon’s regret was setting in; she had taken the liberty to assure him that the morning hours agreed with her and the other girls. But Astoria and Daphne were nine o’clock girls, not “sunrise” girls, and Rhiannon typically woke close to lunch hour if given the choice.

 _All for dear Professor Lupin_ , Rhiannon thought, satirising herself as she waddled out of bed.

Dear Professor Lupin’s frayed jumper was looking more and more like an inviting, old blanket to eyes that were so sleepy. Dimsie and Prissy had prepared an early breakfast that the girls munched on in slow-motion.

“A full stomach seems to help with the Patronus Charm,” Professor Lupin mentioned. “Chocolate, is, of course, the best, but I oughtn’t to have you starting off your day with sweets.”

“If only,” Rhiannon said, orange in hand.

“You don’t get any of the vitamins and minerals you need from cakes and chocolates.”

“You get calcium,” Rhiannon noted. It was her key defence.

“You get a _trivial_ amount of calcium,” Professor Lupin said.

Rhiannon wiggled her eyebrows and added more cream to her tea, and Professor Lupin rolled his eyes above his smile.

“Do you remember our lesson on boggarts?” the professor asked Rhiannon whilst the Greengrass sisters strolled into the ballroom ahead of them.

Daphne caught the last word of Professor Lupin’s question. She began speaking, though she thought she was whispering, about how she always hated the fact that some werewolf knew so many Hogwarts students’ biggest weaknesses due to his boggart lesson. Rhiannon strained her senses to hear Astoria’s response to her sister, which was a lecture about a transformed werewolf hardly having the faculties to remember such things when he is in so much distress, and something about how Daphne needed to “get over it.”

“Don’t mind them,” Rhiannon said nervously.

Professor Lupin nodded calmly.

“Daphne is only driven by fear. Fear is more powerful than all of us, unless we can control our reaction to it. Now, do you recall the lesson on boggarts, Rhiannon?”

“Yeah. Third-years to fifth-years got to take one down, didn’t they?”

“Whilst you merely had a ‘bloody essay;’ correct.”

Rhiannon blushed at how gobby she had been to her teachers in the past.

“My goals for today,” Professor Lupin distracted, “are to help you all produce incorporeal Patronuses and to thereafter have you each try to cast the same whilst in the presence of a boggart. Although a boggart is no dementor, one certainly does not enjoy its company. We can defeat the boggart with the appropriate spell once you all have mastered an incorporeal Patronus.”

“That’s the right idea!” Rhiannon said excitedly. “I never seen a boggart before, though. What do you reckon it’ll be?”

Professor Lupin looked stumped about the fact that Rhiannon had asked him that question.

“I couldn’t say, Rhiannon. Do you mean that you haven’t any idea of what it would be? It’s better to have at least a close guess before facing a boggart straight on…”

Oh, but she wanted _him_ to guess it and to guess correctly. If she guessed herself and was correct, it would have no meaning.

“Of course, boggarts typically pose no danger, even if you are unprepared. Dealing with a boggart is a game of dealing with one’s own perception of it. However, as they are solid beings, boggarts’ _larger_ forms can be quite hindering if they get the better of you. So, in your case, I suppose it is fortunate that we have so much space here.”

He had guessed… He did know.

Astoria and Daphne were hardly in the mood to continue practising Patronus Charms after such a long day of mustering up nothing more than flimsy, coloured air. Rhiannon’s Patronus had improved within that day, though. Though she had accepted that a corporeal Patronus was a long-term goal, she could quite easily make an incorporeal Patronus that acted as a barrier. Sadly, maintaining that form was tricky; a corporeal Patronus would be more independent and bear up without a constant stream of its caster’s happiness. But Rhiannon was raring to go when it came to the boggart. She was confident that she could cast her wimpy Patronus but was slightly worried about Astoria, whose worst fear Rhiannon had no proper guess about. Maybe it’d be dead people –– that was a very common boggart. Rhiannon wondered how a boggart would manifest itself if Astoria’s worst fear was heights, which she knew Astoria hated. Or maybe Astoria’s boggart would be amusing to those with her: Professor Sprout holding a bucket full of manure!

Daphne went first, since she had defeated a boggart before in Professor Lupin’s D.A.D.A. class. Out of Professor Lupin’s larger, more animated suitcase came a skinny, brunet wizard whom Rhiannon did not quite recognise.

“Oh, God!” Daphne exclaimed, scurrying to the wall where the others stood. “It’s changed! My boggart’s _changed_!”

“Keep your head, Daphne,” Astoria responded, staring down the skinny wizard that was shrinking and crawling back into the suitcase. “…Try the Patronus Charm before we start casting the Riddikulus Charm. We don’t want to waste a good boggart.”

“ _A g_ - _good boggart_?” Daphne said with shivers in her throat.

“Crack on, will you?” Rhiannon said impatiently.

Affronted, Daphne marched back to the suitcase and charmed it back open. The same as before, out sauntered a skinny wizard who did hardly anything but stare at Daphne. It was weird having the form of a stranger in the room, especially one that seemed so plain and nonthreatening. Yet Daphne had shut her eyes and twisted her wand in the boggart’s face.

“ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” she squeaked, but her heart was not in it because she knew the charm would not get rid of this mysterious man-boggart.

The boggart turned the pale face it wore toward Astoria, who glared at it as meanly as it glared at her. Daphne’s eyes shot open, and she shook. Rhiannon got a much better look, and knew who the boggart was supposed to be. The Azkaban escapees were anybody’s fear, really, and the Lestranges were the worst among those at large, but why had Daphne’s fears centred on Rabastan Lestrange in particular?

“ _Riddi_ –– aarrrgh,” Daphne said, and shut her eyes again.

The boggart had raised its mimicked wand at Astoria.

“What’s it doing? What’s it gonna do?” Rhiannon asked Professor Lupin as she stepped in front of Astoria and drew her wand.

“It can’t cast a wizard’s spell,” Professor Lupin said, “but it is about to say the only incantation that Miss Daphne associates with this individual.”

“ _Expecto Patronum_!” said Daphne again.

“ _Cru-ci-o_!” said the boggart slimily.

Neither of them cast a spell of any sort, but Daphne started to scream and hold her ears, clearly hearing and imagining her sister being tortured.

“ _Cru_ - _ci_ - _o_!” clucked the boggart, and Daphne crumbled to the floor, at once hallucinating about her own pain.

“I think you’ve done quite enough here, Rabastan,” Professor Lupin said to the boggart, stepping between it and the girl. The boggart took the form of the full moon, hanging eerily silent on the ceiling. Professor Lupin had no problem with keeping it there. His worst fear would not change, but it made so little sense that a full moon would be indoors that it was extraordinarily easy to ignore. Some people were just lucky with boggarts that way.

Daphne lunged for Astoria, hugging her, nearly in tears.

“I didn’t think it would change like that… Last time it was so embarrassing in class… It was just Father standing there ignoring me… But…”

“The last time was three years ago, Daphne,” Astoria stated. “I think that you have some more logical fears now. Little things don’t scare you as much now, do they?”

“Yes, but he was the last thing I expected, really… I thought maybe an Inferius… But I’ve been hearing so much about _him_ –– er… from the papers…”

Rhiannon stepped forward, and the moon fell to the ground like a dropped platter. A winding figure the colour of toxic green swelled larger and larger as the boggart swayed to and fro into its new body. The basilisk that had tried to make supper out of Rhiannon gave her its best hiss, twist, and glare. It didn’t matter that Rhiannon had the skeleton of the creature tattooed on her back; it was still her worst fear that something out there could sniff her blood out and kill her in no time. But the boggart was a joke. Even as it came for her and she stepped sideways out of impulse, it was a joke. She and everyone else in the room would have already been dead if the real basilisk was there. Its stare was lethal to every living creature except the weasel, which Rhiannon expected her future Patronus to be. If it wasn’t a weasel, it would probably be Dumbledore’s phoenix, which had saved her life from basilisk venom. For the time being, though, Rhiannon cast her misty shield, making the boggart gape at it confusedly.

“Splendid, Rhiannon, splendid!” said Professor Lupin as he stepped in front of the monster and it flew back to the ceiling, casting a cold, white light across his face.

“I’d like to have another stab at it,” Daphne said, not wanting to wait for her turn after Astoria.

Boggart Lestrange dropped down to the floor like a bug from the ceiling, nearly landing atop Daphne. It got in her face and went so far as to grab her right wrist, but Daphne wrenched it free and quickly concentrated on something that made her smile visibly from where Rhiannon was standing.

“ _Expecto Patronum_!” Daphne said, and the misty magic sparkled in the air again.

“Very good!” said Professor Lupin, alarmingly proud of _all_ his students. “Astoria?”

Everything about Astoria emanated that she was ready for the challenge, but as she walked toward the fake Death Eater and the other three stepped back to the wall, something creepy happened. The boggart vanished from sight.

“Did it die?” Rhiannon asked, knowing that Quennell Park had to be boggart-free and wondering where they could acquire another one.

“They don’t _die_ like _that_ ,” said Daphne as though Rhiannon had asked the dumbest question.

Astoria was looking all over the room apprehensively. She looked at Rhiannon, frowned, and spun in a circle. Nobody, Astoria included, knew what the boggart had become. Rhiannon thought that if Astoria’s big fear was something like the sudden scares in horror films, the boggart would come crashing toward Astoria at any minute. Perhaps it would even display its real appearance for the sake of the scare; Professor Crouch had told Rhiannon that they looked like troll foetuses.

The problem was that “any minute” came and went. Astoria, though clearly nervy, attempted a Patronus Charm. She might have had more luck if she knew what the boggart was, but still, no one had spotted it.

“You sure it didn’t die?” Rhiannon asked Professor Lupin.

“It’s very strange,” he uttered. “But, no, it wouldn’t have. You know they make a small commotion when they go. Typically, people have very concrete fears, but it is not unheard of to have strong fears of abstract concepts.”

Astoria cast an aimless Patronus Charm. It worked as well as it was going to; a feathery cloud floated round Astoria. The others moved toward her since her assignment was done.

“Good job, Astoria,” Rhiannon encouraged her, but Astoria looked at her as though the boggart was laying eggs on her face.

“Astoria?”

“Rhiannon?”

“Yeah?”

“Where’s Rhiannon?” Astoria said, and to Rhiannon’s shock, she raised her wand in her face.

“Er, Professor, I think something’s up with Astoria…”

“I can tell,” he said, and he was sweeping the room in search of the boggart as Astoria irrationally aimed her wand at him.

At once, and it seemed just in time for Astoria to start firing spells, Professor Lupin collided with the invisible mass that was the boggart, and his hair was swept sideways. He wrestled the hidden creature, started grabbing nothingness, and then seized the boggart once more. He fought with it all the way back to the suitcase. Astoria looked all over the entrance hall in a daze.

“Oh! You’re really here!” she said in relief.

“We didn’t go anywhere. You started to go mad, though!” Daphne exclaimed.

Professor Lupin had figured it out.

“She wasn’t going mad at all. I believe your sister’s biggest fear is the unknown. It must have looked like Rhiannon and I were imposters when the boggart was in her view.”

“What was it, Astoria? Things being hidden from you?” Rhiannon asked, mentally blaming Astoria’s parents as she did so.

“P-Perhaps,” Astoria said, adding, “Everything I heard gave me the feeling that I was being lied to. There were footsteps everywhere. It was as though I saw you, but I didn’t see the real you… You all looked wrong, and so pale… It was very frightening. I didn’t know boggarts could alter your senses like that.”

“No doubt, boggarts are not something you should encounter alone, Astoria. Who knows how long it could have harassed you if we hadn’t been here!” Professor Lupin said with concern. “I’ve only seen boggarts manifest like that a few times before.”

Astoria cleared her throat with refinement. “It looks like we all managed to complete this step.”

All three girls walked out of the ballroom that evening feeling successful. Daphne’s Patronus was about as solid as Rhiannon’s was, and Astoria was getting better at casting something visible on the first try. Yet it dawned on Rhiannon that another day with Professor Lupin was over.

The Greengrasses were the church-going sort of folk, so for the third time in her life, Rhiannon trudged along with the family to the Wizarding-Jesus sort of parish down the lane. Like several Wizarding establishments, it was Unplottable, but unfortunately, Rhiannon’s ex-girlfriend was no Muggle and found her way there without trouble. Asenath Greengrass had not attended church the previous Sunday, and Rhiannon had been hoping that it was not a place Asenath frequented.

“Is something wrong?” Professor Lupin asked Rhiannon.

Rhiannon shielded the morning sun from her eyes with her hand to look up at him. Was she really that upset over Asenath Greengrass that her mood visibly changed? She didn’t like to think so. She had known all along that Asenath was no one to be upset over.

“Church is boring, is all,” Rhiannon said. It wasn’t like it was a lie.

“Well, now, we can’t be rude,” Professor Lupin said instructively, tapping Rhiannon on the shoulder to steer her into the old building. “They’ve kindly invited us to join them,” he added a bit whimsically, still finding value in the mere fact that he was included. Rhiannon was finding “inclusion” hard to appreciate. She felt it was more of a “Don’t stay in the house by yourself” and “Stay on the straight and narrow” sort of thing. And with only the back of Asenath facing her no matter where she walked, Rhiannon did not feel so included.

Astoria’s father introduced Professor Lupin to his siblings. Asenath’s dad, Faunus, took particular interest in the “fellow Gryffindor,” and invited, or nearly commanded, the known werewolf to sit with his branch of the family. Still, Faunus Greengrass was far more wolfish than Professor Lupin and might have even had the notion (or the hope) that he could come to blows with the professor just to show off his virility.

Rhiannon scooted into the pew with the professor. Asenath was enough spaces down to continue to ignore Rhiannon. It was best that way. Throughout the sermon, Rhiannon was wondering how many more times she would have to come to church. It was then that she felt chilled; she remembered Astoria hinting that it might get to the point where all the Greengrasses would have to pack up and leave the country. Rich, powerful, and largely pureblood though they were, they were the targets of Death Eaters in a few more ways than Rhiannon was.

Only a few people in that little church were actually duff to a Death Eater. For instance, Professor Lupin, a half-blood werewolf, Rhiannon, a Muggle-born, and Renshaw Greengrass and Salomon Kippling, both Squibs, were as good as dead if the Death Eaters got to them. Rhiannon had gleaned that much from the creeps in her House. Most of the others though were considered “blood-traitors” to Death Eaters –– filthy by association but biologically pure. It was gross to think of all those You-Know-Who sympathisers who were eyeing the Greengrasses more hungrily than ever as other old Wizarding families continued to shrink.

Rhiannon dropped off for a few moments, but it was restless, and it did not occupy as much time as she wished it had. Professor Lupin had nudged her ever so slightly to wake her, but he himself looked sleepy. So was the secret of so-called morning people: they napped a lot.

There was to be no sleeping on the last day Professor Lupin was at the estate. Rhiannon, Astoria, and Daphne were trying their best to turn out corporeal Patronuses all whilst the professor assured them that they should be happy with how far they had already progressed. The girls knew better than to sit idly, congratulating themselves. Dementors were way up the food chain from boggarts, and in front of this tireless boggart, the girls could still only make mist.

“You ought to take a break every so often,” Professor Lupin said. “Patronuses will only get more and more difficult to cast the more you exhaust yourselves. If you keel over from work when I leave, what will Mr and Mrs Greengrass have to say about me?”

“And what if we keel over from a dementor?” Daphne sassed, wriggling angrily as the Rabastan Lestrange boggart pulled her hair. “You _insolent_ –– er, the boggart, I mean!”

Professor Lupin was ignoring Daphne anyway. He was looking at the enormous clock in the room to see the time, not to admire its astonishing beauty.

“I’ll tell you how we’re coming along with these once we get back to school,” Rhiannon said, understanding that the suitcases by the wall were soon to be transported.

“Well, Rhiannon,” Professor Lupin sighed, “I’ll simply have to assume you’ll advance quickly.”

“What d’you mean?” Rhiannon asked quickly. “What’re you saying?”

“Game of draughts?” Professor Lupin suggested whilst the Greengrass sisters were distracted with their charm-casting.

Rhiannon and Professor Lupin were tying in the game when he finally decided to speak.

“Rhiannon… I have some important things coming up, so please do not write me.”

Surely this was not rejection. This could not mean that Rhiannon had bothered him. How _could_ she have with such intermittent contact she had had with him? Or was he upset about the fact that Rhiannon viewed him so like a father? Rhiannon had to admit that it wasn’t a standpoint that most took with teachers… It probably wasn’t healthy or something… That was what he was going to say, wasn’t it? But she had no decent parents, only role models like him! But he was going to say she needed to get beyond her dear old teacher, and then he was going to leave, and then he wasn’t going to read her letters anymore…

“No, no… Don’t cry. All that thinking, and I still worded that poorly. Here, look at me –– settle down…”

Both his hands patted both her shoulders, and the green eyes beneath creased lids met hers. Professor Lupin had still not explained the meaning of his comments, but Rhiannon felt better to know that she was not untouchable to him, that she was not something to be turned away from when she cried.

“I have very important work to do, Rhiannon. You must trust me. I trust you enough to tell you that it is to help Professor Dumbledore.”

“Y-You’re not fighting Death Eaters, are you?” Rhiannon asked, horrified. “You gotta be careful, Professor!”

“I am not fighting anybody outright. You are the one who should be careful. I’ve given you highly classified information.”

“I won’t say a word. ’Sides, no one’ll ask me but my friends why I’m not writing to you. What should I tell them?”

Professor Lupin’s eyes wandered to the wall in deep thought.

“If it comes to it, that is, only if they ask, tell them that you _have_ written me and that I am not replying. You must understand how crucial it is to keep this secret.”

“I promise.”

Rhiannon felt like an extremely significant part of the secret operation for one exciting moment, but it was only from the strict tone of Professor Lupin’s hushed voice. She was merely an acquaintance who was told not to leak what little information she had been given. Well, she had kept secrets pretty well before for Professor Sinistra, and for Professor Lupin, Rhiannon’s lips would be sealed with ten times the security. The quiet sound of the pieces clicking against the board was greatly overpowered by the Greengrass sisters’ chanting of the Patronus Charm incantation. The tie soon slipped into Rhiannon’s favour, but she recognised that her opponent was letting her win. She smiled.

“I oughtta have lost some five turns ago,” Rhiannon estimated, poking at a space on the board, “when you were here.”

“That you were astute enough to notice the turn means that you well deserve to win,” Professor Lupin said cleanly.

“Ah, you sound like a Ravenclaw, Professor…”

“Mm, I think I might have been one had I not wished for Gryffindor.”

Rhiannon made the winning move because it was the only one left to make. It meant nothing to win, but it meant everything to have been humoured.

“I probably shoulda wished for Gryffindor,” Rhiannon reflected.

“No,” said Professor Lupin, surprising Rhiannon. “You have very good friends in your House who look after you and care about you deeply. And what about your band? What about the fact that you have opened the doors to Slytherin for other Muggle-borns in the future?”

“You’re right,” admitted Rhiannon. “But I’m not so sure anymore that I’m really the first Muggle-born. Lots of Muggle last names have been in my House. Seems like everyone’s just called me that for dramatics all along, ’cos I’m the first one they knew about.”

“I don’t really believe that you are _the_ first Muggle-born Slytherin, either,” Professor Lupin said, “but you are the first one who is open about it, even if you had no choice but to be open. That is what matters: that you persevere. And I want to tell you something else as well. No creature –– even that basilisk that attacked you –– can tell what your ‘blood status’ is. Blood has A-B-O types, Rhiannon, not statuses. That basilisk attacked Muggle-borns because its commander, which, through very Dark magic, was You-Know-Who. He knew where to direct it. It attacked you by coincidence because you were alone in the corridor when it was searching for other prey.”

It was unfair. Though it had been terribly upsetting to think that there was actually some sort of way to discern magical from Muggle blood, at least that thought had assured Rhiannon that there was no escape from the fate of the attack, from the fate of being Slytherin’s Blot. But it had all been coincidence. Rhiannon did not want to believe it.

“No –– surely somebody must have known I was Muggle-born. My last name’s Clarke. I didn’t bring my parents with me to Diagon Alley. I didn’t know things I should’ve known about the Wizarding world. It’s gotta be on some record that I’m Muggle-born…”

“Neither in Hogwarts nor in the Ministry is there any paper that _says_ you are Muggle-born; the only indication might be that the Ministry has no records for your relatives, but the Ministry did not send the basilisk after anybody. Also, you said it yourself that the House of Slytherin has had Muggle surnames in it for a long time. And not bringing your parents meant nothing; the parents of Muggle-borns are welcome to go school shopping with their children. Lastly, no eleven- or twelve-year-old knows everything about the Wizarding world,” Professor Lupin explained. “In fact, nobody knows everything about the Wizarding world,” he added with a smile.

“How did you find out about the basilisk, Professor? How’d you know it was looking for someone else?” Rhiannon asked, a part of her hoping that his source was unreliable.

“I asked the Headmaster about the attacks that took place the year before I taught there. He did a thorough investigation of the incident. Rhiannon, why are you upset? There is no animal out there that can single you out because of your lineage –– only humans can be that cruel. That basilisk was being commanded by You-Know-Who, who was gathering information about other Muggle-borns.”

“I’m upset it’s my fault I was attacked!” Rhiannon said. “If I hadn’t of been running away from Lockhart’s room and dropped my things, I woulda been out of that corridor… I’d never have almost got killed or have everyone throw dirt at me on the grounds, or have everyone know!”

“It is absolutely not your fault!” Professor Lupin said, astounded. “The fault lies with the masters of that creature and the masters only. Salazar Slytherin kept the monster under the school because of his hatred and his malice of Muggle-borns, hoping to use it against them or hoping that someone else would. Someone else, You-Know-Who, did use it! Now, I don’t want to hear you blame yourself anymore for this, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Rhiannon said.

He was already supposed to have left; she could feel it. But he had stayed there the extra ten minutes to help her through her problems. Rhiannon felt happy, grateful, and guilty as she and the professor walked back into the ballroom. Then the sadness set in as he told the sisters that he was leaving, wishing them luck. He walked in front of the form of Rabastan Lestrange, which morphed into that unforgettable sphere.

“Let’s exterminate the boggart, now, shall we? _Riddikulus_ ,” he said, and the moon severed into two pieces. A piece of it fell to the floor, leaving the remaining crescent floating.

Daphne stepped forward, and the broken moon again became Lestrange, now missing an ear.

“ _Riddikulus_!”

Lestrange’s teeth were falling out. Astoria ran to grab the boggart by the arm, so that when it became invisible, she knew where it was. Or, at least she had a good idea of where it was, but Rhiannon hardly thought that Astoria meant to prod it with her wand when she cast the Riddikulus Charm. Nothing amusing happened, but the boggart did change back to the moon when Professor Lupin took his second turn. That time, it became a Pygmy Puff.

Rhiannon stepped in front of it before Professor Lupin could stop her. The boggart was no longer the basilisk –– it was a dementor! Rhiannon at once felt weak and light-headed. It was not a real dementor in her presence, but it was a very talented actor. She was getting cold, hearing glass breaking, smelling the sour, smoky breath of Geoffrey Clarke…

Professor Lupin was leaving the school… Rhiannon was going back to Jessica. She was hungry, battered, tired, scared, and P.R.’s flat was so far from hers when it was night time…

Rhiannon’s legs gave out. People were pushing her but she was dead weight. She heard Professor Sinistra chanting the Patronus incantation in the Hospital Wing, the sound of the Madam Pomfrey yelling at Rhiannon to step back… Professor Sinistra was chanting the incantation that Rhiannon needed to say…

“ _Expecto Patronus_... no. _Patronum_. _Expecto Patronum_.”

A brief moment occurred in which Rhiannon felt her body warm up, and she saw Professor Lupin’s loose-soled shoes… There was a moon in the sky for but a second, but it followed Rhiannon because Rhiannon was more afraid… She was thrown into misery again, but misery had become a co-worker for her in recent years. It had become the thing that drove her forward in life.

“ _Expecto Patronum_!” Rhiannon said. Wasn’t good enough. She needed to think of something happy. Professor Lupin had let Rhiannon win a silly game of draughts, because that was what real parents did for real children when they were young. And he did this because he happened to know that Rhiannon never had the opportunity to be young.

“ _Expecto Patronum_!”

The dark, draped figure was waddling backward, and Rhiannon wished that she had kept it in her mind that it had been a clever boggart all along. It wasn’t the Patronus Charm she needed… how dazed she had been! She cast the Riddikulus Charm with vehemence, and the boggart exploded into smoke.

“How long was I out?” Rhiannon asked, feeling like it had been at least half an hour.

“Oh, half a minute,” Astoria said with bated breath.

Rhiannon was nothing short of terrified knowing that a _fake_ dementor put her through something so awful in less than a minute. She would never be able to cast a Patronus near a real dementor if she fell to pieces in front of a dementor-shaped boggart.

Then came applause from Professor Lupin. Astoria beamed, and Daphne didn’t do anything differently, but looked quite surprised.

“What –– nah, I didn’t cast a real Patronus… _did I_?” Rhiannon asked, completely shocked.

“Well, I believe you sort of did,” Astoria said gleefully, as though the Patronus’s energy swelled in her heart. “The incorporeal form was sweeping round the boggart, and then suddenly––”

She spread out her arms expressively as no normal Astoria would do, then said, “A great, gleaming paw appeared in the mist and clawed right at the boggart! Oh, it was so _exciting,_ Rhiannon! Well done! Well done!”

“Blimey, Astoria, I didn’t cast the real thing…”

“No, but you are progressing extremely well. You’ve done a great job, and you should be very proud. All of you should be very proud,” said Professor Lupin cheerfully.

Professor Lupin had to leave without time to say goodbye to Mr and Mrs Greengrass, an event that they would later complain about. Still, he did have time to say goodbye to his temporary students again. And he had time to share a silent laugh with Rhiannon when Daphne Greengrass thanked him.


	5. The Mission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my [playlist is located here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy)
> 
> Chapter 5 - "Until You're Reformed" by Chevelle

Sunday had gone by without giving Draco anything fresh to worry about. Each time he had the privilege of falling asleep whilst it was still dark out, he breathed a little easier and dreamed a little less. His open windows showed only blackness, and the sound of the shy rain whispered of sleep. There was no way he could have heard the whispering on the ground floor from the comfort of his quarters. His eyes closed and he fell asleep, but lately, the world had been trying very hard to disappoint him.

The thing dubbed Rodolphus announced itself at the bedroom door, slamming its hairy fist against the wood and growling keenly about somebody in the drawing room who wanted to see Draco. Since nothing that Rodolphus was eager about was ever good, Draco wriggled out of his blankets, panic-stricken, thinking the inanest thoughts about the Lestranges having brought back his grandfather as an Inferius. That was impossible, though. Despite the ritual of cremation being reprehensible in the Wizarding community, all thanks to the Muggles’ witch-burnings, Abraxas Malfoy had been one of many of late who was committed to an urn to ensure that he would never become the shame that was the Inferius. Even with that out of the question, Draco’s theories were no less frightening as he donned his dressing gown and slippers. His muddled, waking brain formulated a horrific scene in which his ever-blood-traitorous friend Astoria Greengrass was being tortured by the Lestranges downstairs.

“The Dark Lord does not tolerate tardiness, Malfoy,” snarled Rodolphus as he grabbed Draco’s collar and walked him to the staircase.

The Dark Lord? _The_ Dark Lord? It was about time that he was going to break Draco’s father out of Azkaban… If only he could have done it when it wasn’t the middle of the night.

The younger of the two Lestrange brothers, but by no means the lesser of two evils, was storming up the staircase. His overly sweaty face shone inches from Draco’s before he pushed him down the stairs. Draco caught himself on the railing and stood as quickly as he could.

“I’d keep my thoughts to myself if I were you, shitwit,” Rabastan said nonsensically. “If you continue to affront the Dark Lord, I will _scalp_ you.”

“That won’t do this time, Rabastan,” Rodolphus barked, trying to get round the snarling poodle he called his brother. “The Dark Lord specifically requests this boy.”

“ _This boy_ ’ _s_ sympathies do not lie with our Master, Rodolphus. I can nearly _grasp_ it.”

“Get the hell out of my way,” grumbled the older brother, retrieving Draco as if he were nothing more than a poorly aimed flying disk. “I was told to get this kid downstairs, and I won’t keep the Dark Lord waiting whilst we listen to your psychic nonsense.”

“The Dark Lord _personally_ educated me in ancient art of Legi––”

“You and Bella, I know,” Rodolphus said resentfully.

The drawing room was so near that Draco had no time to prepare himself. If this wasn’t a nightmare and the Dark Lord was really in there, what could he want with Draco when he had the full set of Lestranges ready and waiting for any order?

There were three figures already in the room. Draco’s mother, in the likeness of a disused wind-up toy, remained rigid in her seat. She had been commanded to stay, otherwise she would have been the one to retrieve her son or at least wrap an arm over him as Rodolphus pushed him toward the Dark Lord. Bellatrix was free to move, it seemed, because the Dark Lord knew she would not cause much disturbance prostrated on the floor. He was not facing Draco, but he knew well of his arrival, perhaps, in part –– though it seemed mad –– due to the colossal serpent draped over his shoulders who was doing most of the looking round whilst its master stared at nothing of note. The hem of the heavy, hooded robe worn by the Dark Lord was being clandestinely reached for by Bellatrix. Her white fingers barely brushed the black fabric, and for a moment, she seemed to flinch, but her face spoke only of rapture. The Dark Lord ignored this wild action of hers entirely. Draco, who had been addressed by nobody, stood with a wilting backbone, trying to get a glimpse of the face of the Dark Lord in the mirror above the fireplace and indeed wondering if there would be a reflection to see. The body was there, but the face was obscured. The snake raised its head; it wanted Draco to look at it. It followed each direction in which Draco turned his head. It hissed, not menacingly, but conversationally, in the ear of its master. Draco’s mind flashed to a scene of old: a scene of Harry Potter hissing at a snake, a ludicrous noise that would have been worth a laugh if it had not been real dialogue.

“Draco _Lucius_ Malfoy.”

For as imposing as the Dark Lord appeared, the voice that sounded from beneath the hood was high, shrill, and somewhat cracked. Draco coughed; it felt like the uncomfortable voice had skidded across his own inhaling breath.

“Bella, perhaps you should remind your nephew of his manners. He seems unsure of what to call Lord Voldemort.”

Draco winced at the name. He pondered the irony; the words had come from the wizard himself, who was fear incarnate compared to those mere syllables which iced Draco’s skin. Bellatrix sprang upward from the floor, lunging herself at Draco, stepping on his feet.

“ _Draco_ ,” she said in an embarrassed jeer, “the Dark Lord earns our _highest_ respect. You are to address him as ‘My Lord,’ ‘Your Lordship,’ or––” she tittered –– “Master.”

Draco nodded and coughed again, for it was very difficult for him to address somebody in those self-belittling ways.

“Your Lordship requests… me?” he tried to say with a sense of dignified procedure, but it came out as an honest and pitiful question.

“Ah, Draco, Draco…” said the Dark Lord with false familiarity. “I have a proposition for you, you see.”

Draco’s mother gripped the arm of her chair. The Lestrange brothers eased their way further into the room, curious as to what their great master would have to say to a sixteen-year-old boy.

“There is someone at Hogwarts who is a nuisance to me.”

“Harry Potter,” Draco produced upon hearing the word “nuisance.” All three Lestranges gasped. Draco evidently had no place to insert words into what he thought was supposed to be a discussion. But the Dark Lord’s shoulders rose and fell in a breathy chuckle, causing the snake to seek stiller comfort on the floor.

“Harry Potter,” the Dark Lord hissed slowly, “as you may have guessed, Draco, has been more than a nuisance to me, for only the most absurd of reasons. One of those reasons is that he suckles on the strength of the one of whom I speak.”

 _Dumbledore_.

The Dark Lord turned, and the blackness beneath the hood drew in the image of the loosely-connected family. He stared at Draco, though Draco could not find a face to meet in return.

“You know the man.”

“I-I believe I do, Your Lordship… Albus Dumbledore?”

“‘My Lord’ will do just fine, Draco,” said the Dark Lord slickly.

He wanted Draco to submit.

“My Lord,” Draco repeated reluctantly, “I do not know everyone at Hogwarts, but if it is whom I think…”

“It is,” said the Dark Lord. Then he paused. It seemed like he wanted Draco to speak next, but Draco had stopped being sure of himself for his own protection.

“Rodolphus,” said the Dark Lord, and the addressee fell to his knees. “There is another in this house: the son of our most gutless. I think it would be in order to retrieve him, since…”

The Dark Lord moved his body in a half-circle, facing the fire again, seeming to make even the flames cower.

“…Since Lucius’s son here will tell him everything regardless.”

Rabastan slinked forward, rubbing arms with Draco. He seemed very self-satisfied, and Draco knew at once that his own mind had been invaded by both Rabastan and the Dark Lord. Rodolphus did not waste any time in getting Theodore; he raised his wand and clenched his jaw in concentration. Shouting sounded throughout the house until Theodore’s sleepy form flew in and crashed onto the floor of the drawing room. He scrambled on the floor, and when he spotted the snake, he screamed and made to run. Rodolphus punched him in the stomach, sending him to the floor once more.

“What is –– who is –– oh, OH! My Lord, Your Brilliancy, I beg your forgiveness; I was not aware––”

The Dark Lord snorted, “You must be _proud_ to have your father’s name, _Theodore_ , since you are so like him. Get up. Sit in that chair nearest you. Not another word.”

And soon, Draco could barely tell that Theodore was there at all.

“Now, Draco,” said the Dark Lord with annoyance, “You know well that with many of those who styled themselves ‘valuable’ to me either in hiding or imprisoned, it would be practical to utilise what is available. You, Draco, can enter Hogwarts without arousing suspicion, and you, Draco, can attempt to remove some of the shame which Lucius has cast upon this household. Therefore, my proposition is that you rid me of my nuisance entirely.”

Draco’s mother and aunt gasped. The brothers stifled laughter. Draco didn’t know what to think. “Kill Dumbledore” –– was that _really_ what he was saying? Oh, sure, if Draco _could_ do it, it would be great news for the family, great news for the purebloods who were ready to reap the harvest. But Draco had to agree with the Lestrange brothers and think of it as a joke. Dumbledore was about a century older than he was, and though that might work in Draco’s favour, it also meant that Dumbledore had that much more experience.

Well… it was hard to believe that only one curse stood between the old warlock and death, but if it was true, Draco could do it as well as anyone else could… providing he wasn’t killed himself.

“Oh, _yes_ , Draco Malfoy, you’re the one,” said the Dark Lord… perhaps a trace of sarcasm in his cold voice. “By the end of the year, will you bring to my feet the body of Albus Dumbledore?”

It was not a question or request.

“Yes, M-My Lord.”

The people around Draco started to stir, mostly his mother.

“Is it ‘ _hopeless_ ,’ Rabastan, is it _hopeless_?” the Dark Lord suddenly screeched into the silence.

Rabastan lay on his stomach in an instant. His mind had been invaded.

“Do you think that _you_ –– you, whose wanted poster decorates even the dirty, Muggle buildings –– can walk into Hogwarts and kill the man who expects you‽ Which opportunity do you _foresee_ , Rabastan, that the Dark Lord is unaware of?”

“Master, I was foolish… I was shocked… I merely know this boy’s nature to be…”

“ _You know nothing_! You have spent fifteen years as dementors’ fare! Malfoy, _come forward_!”

Draco propelled himself toward this mass of anger he so wished to avoid.

“Your arm, Malfoy!”

Draco knew which arm the Dark Lord wanted. He wanted the left arm. He wanted the sleeve out of the way.

“Do you swear your loyalty to me, Malfoy? Do you swear not to hide from me as so many of my followers have –– as so many of my followers _wish_ they could do?”

There was no choice.

“I swear, My Lord.”

“Do you accept this first mission Lord Voldemort has bestowed upon you?”

Maybe he could do it.

“I accept, My Lord.”

“Your _arm_ , Malfoy!”

Draco must have put it down…

The Dark Lord showed only his veined, white hands hovering over Draco as he drew a wand of yew. The Dark Lord uttered “ _Morsmordre_ ,” his wand sinking into Draco’s forearm like a massive needle, injecting something black into it that burnt terribly. The wand was withdrawn, and something moved of its own accord inside Draco’s skin like a huge parasite. Draco did not need to look at the faces of his company; he knew they were all astonished. He only looked at the faces of the skull and the serpent on his pained arm. And they looked back, laughing at him.


	6. The Collection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cw: sensuality  
> violence against a bird + death/brief  
> mature themes of glamourising criminals (like zoinks scoob)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my [playlist is located here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy)
> 
> Chapter 6 - "Something Rotten" by Placebo

The month of July had once meant a month of leisure to Draco, but comforts were scarce to all Death Eaters, and Draco was no exception. It was not so much that he _never_ believed he would become a Death Eater, because if the Dark Lord won this war, he probably would have had to. However, at the age of sixteen and with the war not yet won, Draco had thought he was going to get to wait it out like the rest of the Death Eaters’ children. The Dark Mark on his arm, which twisted his skin periodically, told him otherwise. Not only was he a Death Eater, he was ordered to kill Albus Dumbledore. Naturally, this made him a very important Death Eater and had stroked his ego. Yet his mother and his emotionally crumbling friend hinted to him that the Dark Lord had no true confidence in him, that this was not merely a “hazing” or “fool’s errand,” but a _suicide mission_. It was all because Draco’s father failed his duties in the Department of Mysteries. Draco listened to this logic, but he did not wholly accept it. Theodore’s, Crabbe’s, and Goyle’s fathers were also in Azkaban. But Theodore was physically and emotionally weak. Crabbe and Goyle were merely the muscles that Theodore lacked. Only _Draco_ had the strength and the cleverness to even hope to attack Dumbledore, and, like the Dark Lord said, no other Death Eater had any way of getting into Hogwarts unnoticed. So Draco _was_ specially chosen to remove the shame the Malfoy family received from the Dark Lord. Imagine the recognition that would replace it!

Confident or not, Draco knew that Rabastan Lestrange had not been wrong in doubting Draco’s loyalty. Draco’s loyalty was to his parents more than it ever would be to the Dark Lord. Because of this, he was eager to learn the art of Occlumency from Bellatrix upon his mother’s apparently nonchalant suggestion. The pretence she gave to her sister was that Draco would need the skill to face Dumbledore, a known Legilimens. Being able to conceal things from the Dark Lord was a fortunate result of this training, a result which Bellatrix, whom Draco found to be only a mediocre Legilimens, would never consider.

Rabastan, on the other hand, was quite vocal about the Occlumency sessions and was convinced that Draco had many things to hide from “His Greatness.” However, Rabastan was never permitted to use Legilimency on Draco for this training. By sheer luck, Bellatrix apparently wanted to _bond_ with her long-lost nephew and did not want Rabastan interfering. What better way for Bellatrix to get to know Draco than to rummage through the surface of his brain? That was how family worked for Bellatrix, and Draco couldn’t argue. He had many things to hide from the Dark Lord, but when the time came, he wouldn’t be able to extract his memories into a little jar like he could for training. In time, Theodore was also able to get in on the Occlumency training by arguing to Draco’s mother that he “knew too much about the plan” and that Dumbledore would capture him. Thus, Draco’s mother helped Theodore with what skills she had whilst Bellatrix formally trained Draco.

By the time the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, was sacked in favour of Rufus Scrimgeour, Draco was a better Occlumens than Bellatrix was a Legilimens. He didn’t let her onto this, of course. He knew how to fake it. Occlumency was merely a stronger form of what he had a habit of doing anyway: marginalising feelings and shutting out thoughts. Theodore might have even become better than Draco at the art of Occlumency, although the cost of him shutting out his feelings became apparent in his increased reclusiveness.

Morning was the most unpleasant part of the day, though no part of Draco’s day was pleasant anymore. Draco would wake from restless sleep and eat breakfast with his mother and the Lestranges as he glared at the newspaper’s headlines about “Harry Potter, The Chosen One.” He would then assemble a plate for Theodore and bring it upstairs. Theodore would unlock his door, take the food, and lock himself back up to eat. Draco would go back downstairs and scowl whenever he saw the Lestrange brothers through the window harassing his grandfather’s peafowl. But one morning was different. Draco’s and Theodore’s O.W.L. scores arrived. Draco’s mother was particularly excited; something as normal as exam results meant to her that her son’s future was not wholly ruined. Draco, after glancing at the report, did not think she had very much to be glad about.

**Ordinary Wizarding Level Results**

**_Pass Grades_ **

Outstanding (o)

Exceeds Expectations (E)

Acceptable (A)

**_Fail Grades_ **

Poor (P)

Dreadful (d)

Troll (T)

**_Draco Lucius Malfoy has achieved:_ **

** Astronomy E **

** Care of Magical Creatures P **

** Charms A **

** Defence Against the Dark Arts E **

** Divination P **

** Herbology A **

** History of Magic D **

** Potions O **

** Transfiguration E **

Draco tucked Theodore’s report into the sleeve of his robes. If his mother became curious and wanted to compare their results, Draco was not going to hear the end of it. This report did not reflect Draco’s intelligence or skill in any of those subjects. Draco had not studied for anything except Astronomy and Potions. D.A.D.A. and Transfiguration were tests that he crammed for. He had winged the rest of the exams.

“‘Acceptable’ in Charms, dear?” his mother confronted.

“I didn’t study for it. I can still take the class, but it’s not necessary. I know what I’m doing.”

“‘Dreadful’ in History of Magic…”

“Nobody cares about that.”

His mother smiled slightly. He wondered what her History score had been.

“You’ve earned six O.W.L.s. I cannot complain. How many N.E.W.T.s do you plan to earn?”

Draco paused. The task given to him by the Dark Lord was worth a thousand N.E.W.T.s if completed. If Draco failed that task, he should hardly be worrying about N.E.W.T.s. That was not something he could say to his mother, though, so he said, “Four –– maybe five. Not sure yet, Mother,” and excused himself to get Theodore’s food.

“Your O.W.L.s are in, Theodore,” he said to the door. Theodore opened it much quicker for the O.W.L. results than he ever did for food. He took the letter from Draco and opened it with obsession in his eyes.

“Well, don’t just stand there, Draco!” he said, eager to close the door. Draco stepped in, his eyes adjusting slowly to the dim lighting.

“ _What_ is in your bathtub?” Draco asked, squinting at a large, dark, heap.

“Laundry,” said Theodore.

“We have a laundry room that I’ve encouraged you to use _many_ times… You’re living like a hermit. And for Merlin’s sake, you’re growing the beard to fit the part!”

Theodore moved his arm across his face as if he could wipe the beard away like stray bits of food. Draco lit the lights, nearly expecting to find the room in a state of squalor, but it was actually neater than his. Just a few dirty dishes.

“Well, how are your scores?” Draco asked, as Theodore was muttering “Oh,” in triplicate.

“See for yourself,” he said with dissatisfaction.

**_Theodore Alaric Nott, Jr has achieved:_ **

** Arithmancy E **

** Astronomy E **

** Care of Magical Creatures E **

** Charms O **

** Defence Against the Dark Arts O **

** Herbology E **

** History of Magic A **

** Potions O **

** Transfiguration E **

“Only three ‘Outstanding’ scores!” Theodore griped whilst Draco remembered his _only_ ‘Outstanding’ score.

“Get over it, Theodore. You’ve earned every O.W.L. you had.”

“An ‘ _Acceptable_ ’ in History of Magic! That’s the easiest subject!”

“It isn’t easy to study for.”

“ _Ughhhh_!” Theodore grimaced at his excellent results.

“Stop being a prat, Theodore. What did you say you wanted to do? _Write books_? You don’t need a single O.W.L. to do that, and you have _all_ of yours. Eat your breakfast already.”

Sulkily and ungratefully, Theodore munched his mushrooms.

“Tea’s gone cold,” he said, not making any effort to warm it.

“It’s your own fault. Go ask Rodolphus to warm it up for you.”

“Shouldn’t you be learning Occlumency?”

“I know Occlumency.”

“You think you do. You see how far Rabastan Lestrange gets and you might think differently,” Theodore said annoyingly.

“He isn’t teaching me.”

“He should be. It’s the only way you’ll get better. The Dark Lord can crack you open like an egg, and you know it. Don’t you know how to extract memories? That way you can practise with Rabastan safely.”

“If I extracted as much as I would need for practice with Rabastan, I wouldn’t remember my own name,” Draco grumbled.

“Mm, well, I want your opinion about which classes I should drop,” Theodore said.

“History of Magic and Care of Magical Creatures,” said Draco summarily. “Flitwick won’t teach you anything you don’t already know, either. Astronomy, you can drop Astronomy.”

“Oh, I’m taking Charms,” Theodore said affectedly. “And I might as well take Care of Magical Creatures and Astronomy.”

“Well, you don’t have much else you should quit, then. You weren’t thinking of dropping Potions or Transfiguration after all that work…?”

“No, no. I think I’ll just quit the history class,” said Theodore stupidly.

“Then why’d you even _ask_ me? You’re giving yourself way too many N.E.W.T. classes, Theodore,” Draco advised.

“Well, which ones are you keeping?”

Draco peeked at his O.W.L. results.

“I can’t keep very many… I’m going to need time to… You know…”

“To kill Dumbledore, Draco, you might as well say it.”

“All right, arsehole, I need time to kill Dumbledore,” Draco said furiously. “ _Anyway_ , I’m continuing Potions, Transfiguration, and D.A.D.A.”

“That’s _it_? What can you do with those N.E.W.T.s?”

“Less than I can do with this mark on my arm, Theodore!”

“Fine, fine, Mr Dark Mark…” mumbled Theodore. “I, erm, assumed that you would continue with Astronomy...”

“I –– oh. Yeah. Yeah, that’s only two classes per week now,” Draco considered.

“It’s a useful course, but the N.E.W.T. is going to kill me if I don’t pair up with Astoria…”

“It’s going to kill me more than you,” Draco protested. “She was my partner last year.”

“Well, who else do you think got in?” Theodore asked smoothly, sipping his “cold” tea. “I have to be careful who I’m with. Sinistra loves group work as much as I hate it.”

“I don’t think many students will continue with it. If the number of students is uneven again, we three can be a group,” Draco suggested.

“And if there’s an even number?”

“Anyone else who chooses to take this class ought to be really comfortable with it.”

“Right,” said Theodore. “So, I’ll be Astoria’s partner, and you can find another one.”

Theodore had done nothing but irritate Draco since he stepped foot in the room.

“She’ll make the decision,” Draco said with hope to end the conversation. Theodore had other plans.

“Her decision will likely be based on who asks her first, though, so I propose we flip a coin.”

“Flip a coin? I don’t think she would base it on who’s first, anyway.”

“Your and my marks have been the same in that class. In fact, I bet your chances would _only_ be better than mine if you asked her first. She’s only given me hell once, but it seems you two have had a row every other month. Besides, I heard about five minutes ago that school doesn’t matter to Mr Special anymore.”

“Go on and ask her first, then!” Draco challenged. “See what happens!”

Theodore laughed humourlessly.

“Come off it, Draco. She doesn’t like you _that_ much.”

Draco was still. Many of the things he had to hide from the Legilimens were surfacing in his mind. Astoria had come back for him at the end of his fourth year when he was out cold from a hex. She had come back for him last month when he once again cursed by Potter’s gang. She had insisted that he be her Astronomy partner at the start of the last school year. She had insisted that no member of the Inquisitorial Squad other than Draco could read her letters home. She had spent the better part of her Christmas banquet with him. She had spent the better part of May studying with him. She had hugged him when his father was arrested. She broke her back to get to his grandfather’s funeral, too.

“She… might,” Draco said, feeling the gravity of the words in his chest. Theodore stared at him with a cold interest.

“If she does,” Theodore said pensively, “she won’t for long.”

When Theodore said that, something that had always been made of glass shattered. As Draco walked out of the room, he should have known better than to pick up those pieces which would cut him. But, as a collector picks up the pieces of a damaged treasure, so too did Draco.

He looked at his Dark Mark at all different angles in his mirror. It was unmistakable. It was permanent. Sometimes the sight of it was empowering, but this was not one of those times.

~

After temporarily adopting Theodore’s approach to summer and spending several hours in bed, Draco was awakened from his half-sleep by his mother, who offered to take him and Theodore to Diagon Alley to get them out of the house. Draco did not feel like he needed to be “taken” to Diagon Alley, and in his huff, he let her know so. She returned with a silly comment about how Diagon Alley was becoming precarious as of late, and Draco nearly reminded her that Death Eaters were his equals and that petty criminals would fear _him_. Fortunately, he had the sense not to upset her this way, and he agreed to the trip.

The first stop, whether Theodore liked it or not, was the barber’s shop. Though a haircut wouldn’t hurt Draco, it was Theodore’s extra hair that would have been sufficient for a pair of kittens. Despite how careless Theodore had been regarding his personal appearance, he managed to come up with enough specifics about his haircut to irritate everyone in the shop. This delay gave Draco enough time to determine that his curtained hairstyle was due to change.

“Give me something classic,” Draco said, his eyes following Theodore’s hair and whiskers as they floated to the dustbin.

“That’s it?” asked the barber as he finished Theodore’s impractical mop top. “‘Classic?’”

He looked like he did not believe that Draco and Theodore had arrived together. Theodore, who became more spirited as he admired his haircut in the mirror, told Draco that a standard haircut would look weird on him.

Theodore had been wrong. Draco didn’t need all those compliments from his mother to know that he looked good. However, his attractive reflection in the barber’s shop seemed to get less and less attractive in each shop window that the small group walked by. Draco, although exhausted, was almost ready to turn back and have a stern word with that barber when Theodore made a memorably unpleasant noise and complained of dementors.

“ _Dementors_?” Draco’s mother blurted, drawing her wand. She was the only one amongst them who could cast a Patronus.

“Yes; they are spawning beneath our feet,” Theodore said grumpily. He kicked the fog in frustration. “It’s this mist. It’s making everybody look like that,” said Theodore. He pointed to a young couple holding hands whose faces were so sullen that one might have thought the pair had actually just split.

Draco understood that his haircut was still nice, that he had had plenty of sleep, and that watching Theodore stomp futilely on the mist was the best way of preventing the fœtal dementors from affecting his mood.

“That isn’t doing anything, Theodore,” Draco announced bemusedly.

“It’s doing something for me,” argued Theodore, still kicking. “With all this mist, I assume we’ll be hearing some pivotal news soon. If my hunch is accurate, more dementors have defected from Azkaban.”

Draco did not know whether to feel good or bad about that possibility. If the dementors were leaving Azkaban, his father would have one less thing to deal with in prison. But free-roaming dementors meant that they could attack anybody, anywhere, and at any time.

Draco and Theodore did not need anything in Diagon Alley for school yet and ended up simply following Mrs Malfoy around. At short intervals, she would turn her head slightly to ensure that they were still there, and no matter where she went, she dragged the boys with her.

“Nobody had better see me here,” Theodore said, slouching in a chair of a beauty shop whilst Draco’s mother’s heels sounded from the level above. “Why can’t we go eat whilst she does this?”

“You saw that face she gave me. I’m not asking again,” Draco said. “If you want to go somewhere, say so whilst we’re walking.”

“I don’t really want to _go_ somewhere. The booklists aren’t even in yet. It’s just that she’ll follow us. That’s all.”

“Hey, I don’t like it either. But she thinks those dirty street vendors are going to mug us or something, so here we are. Diagon Alley is different, you know.”

“Psh. Well, of course they’re going to walk up to us; you two dress like you have money! That doesn’t mean they’re going to kill us. Besides, what would she do with that diamond-studded wand? They’d take one look at it and grab it right from her before she could cast anything.”

Theodore didn’t get a response. Draco tried to find something to distract himself from the overpowering floral stench of the building, and he succeeded by looking out the window. Covering the front of Gladrags Wizardwear were huge posters announcing that Pariah’s newest album was available in the music shop on the second level of the building. The graphics on the posters were a little intimidating; they showed a girl’s hands, glowing eerily as if they were ghosts in the sunlight, digging in mud aimlessly. Smudged upon each wrist in the same dirt was the album title, _Fylth_.

Theodore, having followed Draco’s eyes, said, “Clever allegory for the band, isn’t it? Some people see it as the twins and Astoria being contaminated by their Mudblood bandmate. The picture shows that there’s no blood difference. It’s an allegory; the mud is a part of nature. Look.”

The hands on the poster were actually planting seeds, which sprang into bright lotus flowers in no time.

“I didn’t think you liked Mudbloods,” Draco said, tearing his eyes from the poster.

Theodore’s face flushed.

“I don’t like people as a whole.”

“Well, I’d keep your Mudblood-loving to myself if I were you,” Draco said for Theodore’s own good. “Come on, let’s check out that album.”

“Talk about keeping things to yourself… What would your boss think of you listening to Pariah?”

“You say ‘your boss’ like it’s nothing,” Draco said with a bitter smile. “I would know if he was in the area,” he informed with a nod toward his left arm.

When Draco and Theodore entered the music shop across the street, the worker there looked very surprised. Diagon Alley must have been scarce of customers for some time.

“May I help you?” he asked eagerly, as though he had been bored for most of the day.

“No, thank you,” said Theodore before walking toward the album display and whispering to Draco, “I hate how they always do that…” as though it wasn’t part of their job.

Copies of Pariah’s album filled the shelves. They had aggressively purple labels stuck on them which read: “EXPLICIT CONTENT.” The album had three singles released already, copies of which were far fewer in number but no less forthright as far as cover artwork went. Draco looked cautiously from side to side to ensure that no one would see him. Theodore and he each picked up a copy of the album and turned it over. The back cover had an image of blood-splattered flower petals falling. Over the image floated the track listing:

  1. **Mire**
  2. **Saccharine**
  3. **Annual**
  4. **Sylhet**
  5. **Sleepless**
  6. **Underbelly**
  7. **Peepers**
  8. **Dunglicker**
  9. **Transfusion**
  10. **Drugged Mug**
  11. **Demerits**



“Looks pretty angry,” Theodore commented.

“Their last one was angry,” remembered Draco. “It didn’t get the Ministry’s label, though. Astoria’s parents are going to _love_ this.”

“Hm… Well, we’d best be going. Your mother is going to lose it if she sees we’re gone, and it isn’t like either of us can purchase this.”

Draco had heard a few of those songs at Pariah’s only concert, the one where Astoria had forgotten to sing the first few lines of the opening song, the one where she débuted a tirade against her ex-boyfriend that didn’t seem to be on the final cut… Draco got to thinking that he would never be able see Astoria sing again. He hardly cared about that, however, when he considered how much danger she was in for having put out something like _Fylth_. Those Carrow twins had relatives who would not hesitate to point fingers at Astoria when the Dark Lord would ask which blood-traitors were making the biggest ruckus. In that sense, Astoria was in the same category as Dumbledore. And in that sense, the Dark Lord would have every reason to order Draco to kill her, too…

“Whoa, you took a big whiff of that mist when the wind kicked up… Have a seat before you pass out,” Theodore instructed.

The pungent smell of the beauty shop invaded Draco’s nostrils, and when he raised a hand to his face to cover his nose, he felt ice in his palms.

“We need to learn how to cast Patronus Charms,” Theodore said.

“I can’t,” Draco scowled.

“You _can_ ’ _t_ , or you haven’t tried hard enough?”

“I can’t. I’ve been trying for three years. It’s never worked.”

Mist or no mist, Draco’s state of mind did not improve when he got home. The Lestranges were obnoxious as ever when Theodore decided to attend supper, Draco’s meal didn’t sit well with him, and he had already had too much sleep during the day to be able to fall asleep that night. He thought of Dumbledore, dementors, Astoria Greengrass, and his father. Excluding the year Sirius Black escaped, dementors were supposed to stay in Azkaban, which had been perfectly fine with Draco until his father was sentenced there for life. A few dementors escaped the prison because of the Dark Lord, and they bred like rabbits across the country. There wasn’t a soul out there that wasn’t appetising enough for dementors. Maybe, by sheer luck, Albus Dumbledore would come into contact with one, and then Draco would not have to fight him. Still, the Dark Lord was exactly like everyone said he was, and Draco was sure that he would come up with somebody else for Draco to murder. Astoria Greengrass should not have been a priority on the Dark Lord’s hit list over any other Greengrass, over any other blood-traitor, but the Dark Lord would be delighted to have Draco kill his own friend.

_How did I get myself into this?_

Ingratiating himself to a Greengrass never should have resulted in this disaster. The tables were turning, and the blood-traitors were going to be spit on instead of buttered up. But Draco had no way of knowing that at first, and by the time he did, he had begun to enjoy Astoria’s increasingly rewarding company. She had told him she enjoyed his company, too. She had done an excellent job in finding things she liked about Draco, and he had been left to wonder _exactly_ how much she liked about him, and if it was _enough_ …

 _Too much_ , Draco thought. He paced round his room.

 _I like her too much_.

 _It_ ’ _s not safe for either of us_.

 _It_ ’ _s not fair to Pansy_.

Draco rinsed the sweat from his face in his sink. He wondered why he had done so many of those things he had done with Astoria. An extra smile would almost always get an extra smile out of her. A joke would make her laugh and would make her like him more. Sometimes, if he talked soft enough, she would lean in closer, and her hair would fall in some way she didn’t want it to, and Draco would watch her play with it. On more than one occasion, he had caught her staring at him, too.

 _It_ ’ _s not fair to Pansy_.

 _…Or is it well-deserved?_ asked a more sour part of Draco’s mind.

Because although Pansy smiled, and laughed, and stared at him, and played with her hair just as nicely, she had one major failing that Astoria would never have. She was –– or at the very least _seemed_ –– fake. If she needed to be fake, then why waste the effort? Draco initially did not care about Pansy’s overindulgence in him because he truly thought he had earned it. Then he realised, however grudgingly, that nobody could earn _that_ much clinging admiration, but he still did not care because the attention was fantastic. Then, about the same time he got the feeling that Pansy should have outgrown the infatuation, he discovered something offensive. She wanted a Death Eater. She didn’t care who it was, but if it was the boyfriend in whom she had seen potential, it would be all the more opportune.

 _Well_ , _here I am_.

Draco glared in the mirror. On one hand, he had a clingy girlfriend who was hoping to find a Dark Mark each time he took off his shirt. On the other hand, he had a miscarriage of a dream who would cry her heart out if she saw the same mark. And which girl did he really want? The one whose sincerity made her more gratifying. But that was the one with whom a relationship would make no sense. The one with whom a relationship could prove fatal. So he had to let go of this idea. Whatever it would take, he had to let go of Astoria Greengrass. He knew one thing: she wouldn’t have any trouble letting go of him.

Draco equipped a coin with a Protean Charm and put it in his pocket. He had given the other coin to his mother after spending nearly half an hour arguing with her about going to Pansy’s house. “It’s not safe,” Mother said, and “I’m not sure I like this girl.” Well, Draco wasn’t sure if he liked Pansy, either, and he was very intent on finding out. Outraged that Draco first chose flying as his means of transportation, his mother instead Apparated him there upon his insistence. She reminded him of the coins. She grimaced at her surroundings and made a comment about the Parkinsons’ living near Muggles. Then she left.

It was ten in the morning, the same morning that the _Daily Prophet_ decided to admit that the dementors had all escaped Azkaban and were wilder and more dangerous than ever. Pansy’s parents, despite the threat, still had to go to work and were not there when Draco arrived at the house. He rang the doorbell. He had a long wait during which he glanced over his shoulder countless times to check for stray dementors. At least they were not harassing his father any longer…

“Draco, you got a haircut! I love it!” Pansy exclaimed through the crack in the door when she finally answered. She swung it open and barely let him into the house before she kissed him. She walked him over to the couch in her parlour and kissed him more fervently.

“What brings you here?”

“You.”

Pansy smiled even wider and lay back on the couch, giving him a pretty good view of her upper thighs thanks to her shorts. A tight, chequered sleeveless shirt covered not much of the rest. The forbidding wait on the doorstep must have been due to her changing into this. They talked about nothing important, then she took his hand in hers and stood up.

“What time do you have to leave?”

“Er… An hour or so, just so Mother doesn’t panic.”

“Want to see my room?”

_Oh. Why not?_

Draco allowed himself to be led upstairs, enjoying the view. They stepped into her bedroom, and she turned toward him with her eyebrows raised, perhaps waiting for some irrelevant opinion of his about her décor. What could he say? The walls were pale pink. There was a bulletin board with thick ribbon crosshatched over it, holding various cut-outs of newsprint. She had a large dresser with a desk built into it, a jewellery box that mostly held things Draco had bought her, and a girlishly decorated letter box. Her bookshelf was packed, which was a little unexpected, because Draco rarely saw her with a book. Her bed looked comfortable, so Draco took the liberty to sit on it. He checked himself in the mirror on her closet door. He guessed he looked all right. Pansy was staring at him, fidgeting with her shirt and her hair.

“I’m, er, going to get a butterbeer. Do you want one?” she offered.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

She left Draco alone in the room. He didn’t really know what he should do, so he decided that his current assignment was merely to wait for the butterbeer. That got boring at the same rate at which Draco got very restless. He stood up to get a better look at the things Pansy had on her bulletin board. He wished he hadn’t. She had clipped out articles from the _Daily Prophet_ about the Azkaban breakout dating as recent as the middle of July. The Ministry was looking for leads on the escapees, and apparently, so was Pansy. That was not all.

She had several newsprint copies of the same two mug shots –– “ _Rabastan H_. _Lestrange, 3 December 1981,_ ” and “ _Rabastan H_. _Lestrange, 3 December 1991_ ” –– the older of which she had a copy of a colour photograph. She had articles on her own parchment that she had obviously copied from the newspapers in the school library; they were all on the subject of the Longbottom torture case and were too disturbing to read. Draco stepped away. He approached her dresser, eyeing the glittered box decorated with paper flowers. He opened it and saw his letters to her on the right. There were other things on the left. She had a copied picture of the 1977 Slytherin Quidditch team. Rabastan was the Keeper. She had a picture of the graduating Slytherin Class of 1980. Rabastan was short, so he stood in the front.

Pansy also had an antique document that listed the Sacred Twenty-Eight pureblood families, which she had defaced in messy black ink, crossing out the names Crouch, Greengrass, Ollivander, and Weasley. The parchment was completely sliced through where the name of Longbottom was supposed to be. Draco set the document down and nearly feared what he would next see; the only thing left was a thick roll of parchment. It had been perfumed. It contained a collection of poetry in Pansy’s handwriting, the longest of which Draco chose to read:-

Such splendour wrapped round gnarled branches

And majesty in its decay

Drew me to a rotted tree

On one unlucky day

Though many trees along the path

Were bountiful and green,

It was the sickly one I studied

And watched its insects teem

I drew nearer to this rancid nature

And questioned in my head,

“How is it that it blossoms,

When clearly it is dead?”

No passer-by could answer

The question I proposed,

For no one saw the blossoms

Or smelt the honeyed rose

“This putrid tree should be cut down,”

I heard the people say

They rallied up the lumberjacks,

Told me to run away

Yet from that spot I could not leave,

Though clearly nothing flourished,

The beauty left me fascinated

The lack of fruit, malnourished

Draco put everything back in order and felt he should remain standing rather than return to the bed. Pansy returned with the butterbeer, so he pulled out the chair from her desk.

“Are you okay, Draco? Is something wrong?”

“No. I’m okay.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long. I know you prefer butterbeer hot, so I warmed it up.”

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Erm, so I’ve been meaning to ask you something –– I know it’s kind of a strange question, but… I remembered something, and I wanted to check with you…”

“Yeah?”

“Well, when your mother wrote you about… You know… Erm, well, she made it sound like your aunt was going to try to contact you…”

“What about it?”

“ _Did_ she contact you? …I mean, it _worries_ me, don’t you know? Look at all these articles they have about those Death Eaters… The Lestranges are still out there after the Ministry battle…”

“No, she hasn’t contacted us,” he lied. “I mean, not yet anyway.”

“Oh…”

Pansy absentmindedly moved to drink more butterbeer, and she was soon sweeping it from her neckline with embarrassment.

“Well, that’s good, then, isn’t it?” she managed to say.

“It is. You must be, er, really worried about these Death Eaters. But you’re pureblood.”

“They like purebloods especially, don’t they?” she squeaked.

“Well, yeah.”

“Do you think I should be worried?”

“Not, er, not really.”

“Okay,” she said cheerfully. “Oh, don’t you like your butterbeer? It’ll get cold.”

“I was only slightly thirsty,” Draco said.

“Do you want anything else?”

Pansy walked over to put her goblet on the desk. She ran a hand through his hair, examining how he parted it differently from before.

“I’m not used to this yet,” she giggled. “I like it.”

She slinked to her mirror and lifted her hair.

“I might get mine cut just a bit. It’s getting too long. Maybe I should lighten it, too… And my fringe hides my face! What do you think?”

Draco shrugged.

“Anything will look good on you.”

“You’re sweet,” she said, falling onto her bed. “Come here.”

It was different from the usual. Her clothes were really coming off… like, _off_ off. He still had his despite Pansy’s efforts. This was definitely not the time for her to see his shiny new Dark Mark. Not when she was writing creepy poems… Not when his aunt’s brother-in-law was staring at him from the wall…

Pansy asked him what was wrong a couple of times because she could see his face, so he went for her neck so as not to be bothered. Again, she tried to take off his shirt. Again, he thought of that Dark Mark and how he would much rather have her think of him as Draco and not some Death Eater analogous to Rabastan Lestrange.

Pansy was kissing behind his ear when he saw her bookshelf, not because he was trying to ––he definitely did not want to know what was there in that moment –– but merely because of the angle. His body was not losing track of Pansy, but his mind hardly had the choice. On the bookshelf were huge publications titled _Wizengamot_ : _The Crouch Report_ _of_ _December 1981_ , _The First Wizarding War_ , and _Inside Azkaban_ : _Public Reports from the Azkaban Security Officials_ ’ _Office_. In addition, there were several worn, creased, and yellowed paperbacks with sensational titles such as _The Ones Who Got the Longbottoms_ , _What the Public Doesn_ ’ _t Know about the Lestrange Trial_ , _Love and Lestrange_ : _Secret Motives behind the Longbottom Case_ , and _Downright Dirty_ : _Untold Stories of the Death Eaters_. There was a brand new paperback laying horizontally on top of the others with a bookmark in it. It was titled _Death Eaters in the Ministry of Magic! The Battle of the Department of Mysteries_. That was the battle that had cost Draco’s father everything.

“Draco…” Pansy interjected grumpily.

They really weren’t getting anywhere. Draco drew back from her and swung his legs over her bed. He thought quickly.

“Sorry, my mother’s trying to contact me,” he said, and he pulled out the coin from his pocket, turning it over and pretending to read a message. Before Pansy could see that there was nothing there, Draco stood up.

“What’s she want?” Pansy whined, luckily having no knowledge of Protean Charms. “Surely she ought to let you out of the house every once in a while.”

“I’m sorry, Pansy, I’ve got to go. Theodore’s having a, erm, meltdown of sorts, and my mother can’t deal with him. He’s, er, retching and everything, it seems.”

“Theodore’s always having some sort of meltdown!”

Draco grunted, half-agreeing, half-defensive. Pansy didn’t realise how effortlessly she had ruined his mood with her choice of literature.

“Where’s your Floo powder?” he asked.

“Floo powder‽ We only have a little bit left! What am I supposed to tell my parents when they see it’s gone?”

“What? I’ve been here before.”

“Yeah, when _they_ were here! And now that… now that your dad’s in prison, they don’t want me dating you!”

“I don’t know what to tell them, Pansy; just figure something out!” Draco said, making for the fireplace in her parlour and searching the mantle for the Floo powder storage. They kept theirs in a vase. He took it as Pansy was scurrying down the steps mostly naked, perhaps with an idea that she could stop him. Instead, she started blubbering that she was sorry, and she stole a kiss goodbye. Her skin was so soft and flushed… He didn’t really want to leave, but he was so upset the mood was now non-existent. _Rabastan_? _Really_?

“I’m sorry, Pansy, I’ll see you later,” he said quickly.

Draco stormed through his drawing room and made for the kitchen. He poured a tall glass of his grandfather’s wine and drank it uncouthly over the sink. From the window, he spotted Rabastan using the Cruciatus Curse on one of his grandfather’s peahens. Enough was enough. In Draco’s anger, he bolted out the back door to confront this man he normally feared. Draco wasn’t especially fond of animals since they often bit, chased, or otherwise maimed him, but Rabastan’s behaviour was out of pure sadism. Seeing Draco, Rabastan lifted the curse from the hen. And then he killed it. He killed it because he was jealous of creatures that were still more human than he was.


	7. A New Wand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my [playlist is located here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy)
> 
> Chapter 7 - "Anna Freud" by The National

**UK TOP WIZARDING ALBUMS: 27/07/96**

1\. _Burnt Orange –_ The Weird Sisters

2\. _The Pretty Kids_ – Maia Lacey

3\. _This is the Night_ – The Weird Sisters

4\. _Whiplash_ – Spellbound

5\. _To the Top_ – Q. Murray

6\. _By Moonlight:_ _The Best of Celestina Warbeck Volume II_ – Celestina Warbeck and the Banshees

7\. _Takeoff_ – The Weird Sisters

8\. _Songs about Elisa_ _–_ The Wiggenwelds

9\. _Retribution_ – Cannibal Coven

10. _By Daybreak:_ _The Best of Celestina Warbeck Volume I_ – Celestina Warbeck and the Banshees

**OPINION:**

**PARIAH’S SINGLES ARE NOT LIKE OTHER “FYLTH”**

By Keaven Ruppert

 _Fylth_ does not know what it is. It is certainly not metal, it is not grunge, and it is not punk. It might have been trying to be all of those things at once, but the result was no more impressive than the archival demos that Creep Agency released last month in an overpriced set (you know, the ones no one asked for).

Pariah, however, is as confused as the listener is at the end of the album. With the ear-splitting guitar, two distinct and disharmonious frontwitches, and the ever-mutinous piano, imagining anything other than four teenage girls arguing about the music they are trying to mash together is difficult.

My message to buyers is simple: Do not let the unsettling (and highly controversial) artwork on the album guilt you into giving your gold. The three singles, which, I must say, were brilliantly executed, are all you need to take away from Pariah’s latest project. “Mire” is one of those rare events where the two competing names in Pariah, vocalist Astoria Greengrass and guitarist Rhiannon Clarke, come together to make a decent piece of symphonic rock. The other two singles show them largely independent of each other, so pick your team. Both Greengrass’s “Saccharine” and Clarke’s “Demerits” have reached domestic silver and are likely the only money-makers slithering through _Fylth_ ’s greasy wake. ▪

**“FYLTH”: THE MOST APPROPRIATELY TITLED ALBUM OF THE DECADE**

G. Shardlow

Parents beware: Rock album _Fylth_ was made by teenagers but is not _for_ teenagers. If you have any say in what your teen listens to, which you should, say _no_ to this album. Its content warning label was not lying, but your teen might be if he or she tore it off. _Fylth_ is full of inappropriate content. The very cover depicts sweet little hands planting seeds in waste and being _rewarded_ with beautiful flowers. The track “Peepers” is written from the point of view of a malicious voyeur. Drug references, gory descriptions of blood, violence, and profanity are a-plenty. Popular song “Saccharine” speaks of a womaniser, and “Demerits” leaves listeners wondering if the album came from the you-know-whats ward of St Mungo’s.

I write this as a concerned mother. If you were weary when Cannibal Coven’s album hit the shops but decided to let it pass, do not do the same for this album. As we work so hard to keep a tidy house, be sure to keep _Fylth_ out of your home. **★**

**IN.FINE.IT. MAY DROP BAND PARIAH**

Report by J.J. McDougal

Based on sales of their sophomore album, _Fylth_ , Pariah may prove unprofitable for the In.fine.it. record label, the proud signer of the Weird Sisters. Pariah failed to chart with their new album, _Fylth_ , in both June and July, and their album, _Fed Lines_ , left the charts in March with no promise to return. Meanwhile, the Weird Sisters continue to dominate sales, with 1993’s _Takeoff_ returning at #7, 1994’s _This is the Night_ moving down only to #3, and their latest release, _Burnt Orange_ , cementing itself at #1.

Strangely enough, the success of Pariah’s _Fed Lines_ was not to be repeated. I’m not a marketing analyst, but it is evident that this has to do with the audience. The members of Pariah are roughly fifteen years old. When they produce an album as jarring as _Fylth_ , even with the label backing them, their own age group and chief audience is too young to appreciate its political and cultural messages.

Comparably, the adult population cannot be expected to listen to angry teenagers barely managing to sing over the sound of the wailing Muggle guitar.

 _Fylth_ was a risk for In.fine.it. from the start, but the album’s singles weakly buoy Pariah above the record company’s dangerous waters –– for now. If we can expect another Pariah album, _what_ we can expect from it is anyone’s guess. ▪

The artist who viewed her songs as her children cried over the shoulder of her friend. Astoria tried to comfort Rhiannon. She said that the critics were too thick to understand the message of the album, and that they had nothing better to do than to attack a band of soon-to-be fifth-years who were only trying to make some money. She said that the album did not merit such dramatic criticism, and that their next album would surely make In.fine.it proud to have Pariah… But she was met with only Rhiannon’s disconsolation and rambling.

“They think you and me aren’t a band, like it’s a contest between us… That brain-dead Shardlow just wants to keep me skint forever… It’s _shoegazing_. It’s on _purpose_ … Muggle guitar my arse!... It’s over, Astoria, it’s all over…”

Rhiannon saw her dreams as being totally crushed when they were really just coshed a bit by a load of bored critics. Astoria gave up speaking. She tied Rhiannon’s bedhead back from her wet face. Astoria understood that Rhiannon wanted her own money and that she wanted to make it big in music. She knew that Rhiannon saw this small failure as a prélude to a future of hopelessness. It was scary to Rhiannon, and it hurt. It felt like the album had been a wasted effort. Astoria, though, was motivated to make a better album when Rhiannon was convinced that the band had already done its best. Astoria felt, regardless of the poor reviews, that she really ought to leave Pariah and let it metamorphose from the so-called confused style Astoria’s involvement had created. When she expressed this, in gentler terms, to Rhiannon, she made it worse. The devastated girl begged her not to leave. So Astoria said she would stay. They would write more music. They would create a hit album. They would, they would, they would… The objectives were empty for the time being; they were only to make Rhiannon calmer.

Rhiannon moved away sulkily, kicking the periodicals to the floor. She wondered aloud what people she knew thought of the album. She was worried what Hestia would think. She was worried what Flora would say. Astoria wasn’t worried. Money or no money, Rhiannon was under her roof, as safe as she could be with Death Eaters, dementors, and You-Know-Who on the loose. Signed or not, Pariah could always make more music. Astoria left Rhiannon’s side and sat at her boudoir grand piano. She placed a sheet of music in front of her and started to play “Ragdoll” by The Hobgoblins, to which Rhiannon had a habit of listening whenever she was upset. Rhiannon heard the beloved tune and followed the sound.

“What’s that?” she asked, although she knew.

Astoria sang, sounding completely different from the original vocalist and wondering what Rhiannon thought of the disparity. She found out quickly: Rhiannon started to laugh at her through her sniffling. But that was all right.

“See, this is what they mean when they say we ain’t punk,” Rhiannon chuckled.

Astoria ducked her head forward to mess up her morning hair further, struck her keys overenthusiastically, and comically imitated the original song’s shouting.

Rhiannon perked up entirely and sang the chorus with Astoria, which they both sang in seriousness, because they knew that no matter what the reviewers at the _Daily Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_ thought, they sounded just fine together.

“Did you transcribe that with magic?” Rhiannon asked animatedly.

“There’s no spell that can do that of which I am familiar,” said Astoria.

“You tellin’ me you put this whole song to piano by yourself?”

“I thought you might want to cover it one day; you listen to it so much. I wanted to have this ready.”

“Astoria, you’re the _best_.”

“I try…”

She did try; nearly all the music in the room was part of her attempt to be a great friend. She knew she wasn’t always appreciated, but when she was, it made her feel supreme. The problem was so many of her goals to achieve that feeling were uphill battles. If it wasn’t music, it was something else. All of the issues of _Transfiguration Today_ and _Challenges in Charming_ that were beginning to clutter her room were part of her attempt to be a great witch. Some days she had the notion that she was dreadful at magic; other days she was aware of her progress. The glorious sheet of parchment saying she had earned an Outstanding on her Astronomy O.W.L. made known of her attempt to be a great astronomer. That attempt, at least, was working.

Astoria heard Daphne walking to breakfast. Astoria was quick to get the stolen morning newspaper and her sister’s _Witch Weekly_ back in her robe. She and Rhiannon meant to sneak back into the breakfast room and place them on the table with no one noticing they were ever gone. When the two reached the staircase, though, they saw Daphne standing quite still on the mezzanine. She was listening to a conversation from below, and when Astoria and Rhiannon tiptoed to her side, Daphne held one finger to her lips.

“I told you, she would have done better home-schooled. I told you all along. There wouldn’t have been any boys to distract her from her studies,” Astoria’s father complained about Daphne.

“What is done cannot be undone,” said Astoria’s mother.

“Estelle, dear, the child earned _three_ O.W.L.s –– two legitimate ones, what with that _Divination_ having wasted enough of her time…”

“But she will live a happy life regardless, will she not? She earned an “E” in Arithmancy, your favourite subject. She has the capabilities.”

“She has not the _credentials_.”

“She needs not the credentials. We have talked about this. All the money we have set aside for her? Adam, are you forgetting? I will take that silly report away from you if you keep looking at it.”

“Astoria,” mumbled her father. “We need to get Astoria some help. Her marks are low in some of these classes. She has her O.W.L.s in June… Her report can’t look like this.”

“In that case, I suggest we start by buying the poor dear a new wand. Transfiguration gives her the most trouble.”

“A new wand, yes, we’ll see what that does… _Where_ is my paper?”

“So that’s it, then. We’re both failures,” said Daphne quietly, looking at the floor.

“You’re not failures,” Rhiannon spoke up from behind.

Daphne made a noise and started down the stairs again. Astoria handed her the newspaper before she could get too far away. Daphne understood to act like she had been the one reading it; Astoria was too “gentle” for the news. Then it was Rhiannon’s turn to comfort Astoria.

“Hey, a new wand’ll help. Probably take some of the stress away. And, you never know, you might be three times the witch with a wand that actually works. A new wand might help you with your Patronus… You’re gonna need it…”

Astoria thought only of her wand during breakfast, for Rhiannon had not helped. She stared at her parents and waited for them to bring up the topic. The wand was her personal project. It was a beautiful instrument that only she could learn how to play. Owning any other wand would mean that she had surrendered, or at least it would mean that her parents had given up believing in her yet again. She had come so far, she thought. And yet, with the career she wanted on the line, she had the nagging voice that a different wand was the answer. She needed N.E.W.T.s in Astronomy, Transfiguration, Arithmancy, and Charms. No one in their right mind would aim for a Transfiguration N.E.W.T. with a finicky wand. If Rhiannon had a point, if Astoria could be three times the witch with a better wand, why was she so hesitant? Was it really because of that old saying about the wands choosing the wizards? Wasn’t that childish?

“Astoria, your mother and I were thinking…”

 _Here it comes_.

“…it is in your best interest to seek a new wand. Now, since you received a letter yesterday requesting your presence at the In.fine.it Records Headquarters today, we shall make both stops in one trip.”

“Wait, you took my mail? You didn’t tell me we had to be there––”

“I did not tell you because I did not want to worry you. The meeting is not until one o’clock today, and there was no need for you to dwell on it all through yesterday.”

 _Rhiannon_ certainly looked like she wished she had known, and she had a right to know just as Astoria did. If her father hid one letter from her, how many had he hidden before and would he hide in the future? How early was she going to have to get up to go through all of the mail?

“We will go to Ollivander’s first if you get ready quickly. He takes a long time in selling wands,” said Astoria’s mother.

“I don’t want a new wand,” Astoria finally announced. “Not at all.”

“Not at all?” her mother asked, surprised. “Yours is so inconvenient.”

“No, I like my wand. I’m getting used to it. I’m getting much better.”

“Astoria, we’re getting you a new wand for your safety and for the sake of your academics,” her father said sternly.

“I’m safe with this wand!” Astoria said inaccurately. “It worked when we practised D.A.D.A. in the Astronomy Library… Isn’t that right, Rhiannon?”

“Er, yeah. Yes, it worked all right.”

“You girls need to get ready to go,” Astoria’s mother said.

Astoria was silent when she was told that she would need to bring her wand with her. Thinking of somebody else using _her_ wand better than she ever did was driving her mad. Then again, knowing Mr Ollivander’s fanaticism, he might simply burn her old wand… Astoria could not help being sour toward her parents and toward Daphne, who was obviously satisfied that she was not the only daughter who had disappointed them. On the girls’ way back upstairs, Astoria decided to pick a fight.

“Well, at least one of us is happy that my wand’s being taken from me!”

The little, sour smile fell from Daphne’s face immediately. Rhiannon slowed her climb.

“Oh, get over yourself, Astoria. It’s only a stupid wand. If it isn’t working, there is no reason to keep it,” Daphne said, trying to pretend she was the logical one.

“It’s wrong to get rid of a wand that isn’t damaged!”

“What, ‘The wand chooses the wizard?’ _Really_? That’s something wandmakers say to get people to buy those expensive ones that react quickly. For heaven’s sake, Astoria –– wands don’t have brains!”

“Obviously they don’t have brains! But everyone is different, and every wand channels magic a little differently, too. They have a sort of… personality! That’s why they say the wand chooses you. What if Maman and Dad said _you_ had to get a new wand?”

“ _What if Maman and Dad said_ YOU _had to get a new wand_?” Daphne imitated childishly, traipsing away to her room to primp. “Maman and Daddy don’t even think I need a wand at _all_!”

With Daphne out of the way, Rhiannon spent most of the time during which Astoria was getting ready for the trip worrying aloud about the In.fine.it meeting.

“They’re going to drop us, I know it…”

“Then we’ll find another label.”

“No other label’ll take us… Our album’s flop was too high-profile…”

“‘ _High-profile?_ ’ Rhiannon, this isn’t a political scandal. We’ll find another label.”

“What label?”

“I don’t know… I can’t think of one off the top of my head!”

“Well, I’d be more worried about this meeting than finally getting a better wand!”

Rhiannon was proving insufferable with her lack of sympathy when it seemed that all Astoria had ever done was outpour hers. Astoria felt as though she had _two_ sisters and was running out of ways to make the best of it. On the trip to the wand shop, she daydreamed about what might happen if she simply refused to hand over her wand. She could not keep her hand off of it as it travelled with her for the last time in the pocket of her robes.

 _Better wand_ … she thought scathingly. _What if I_ _am exactly the same with another_? _What will that say about_ me?

They were inside Ollivander’s. Rhiannon was peering at the labels on the boxes, clearly thinking of how there wasn’t a wand in the shop that had the core of hers. Rhiannon had nothing to worry about, though. Her wand was cheap, but it worked just fine and she had no parents to tell her otherwise! Rhiannon continued looking the walls up and down whilst Daphne examined her manicure. Astoria thought of Diane Carter and Chiyo Akiyama making fun of her about her ineptness with her wand. She had wanted to prove herself to people like them, even if they wouldn’t acknowledge that they had been wrong. Her getting a new wand would only give the bullies fuel. Perhaps, she thought, she could explain it to her parents that it was a matter of dignity. They were always ready to listen to the _dignity_ argument…

Her parents’ faces were fixed. They were waiting patiently whilst a young man whom Astoria recognised as Neville Longbottom was trying out the wands in front of Mr Ollivander. Neville’s gaudily-clothed grandmother was less patient.

“Can’t you see none of these will do for this boy‽ I want to see what you have back here––”

She shimmied her way past the wandmaker and ushered him to follow.

“Now what do you think of _this_? A nice, classic English oak––”

“Madam, please, even the ones that have already tried his hand are much more sympathetic than any English Oak will ever be…”

“No, no, Neville likes Herbology, don’t you Neville? Give him an oak!”

At this point, the wandmaker blatantly ignored Mrs Longbottom and returned to check on the end user. He took one wand from Neville’s hand and replaced it with another, then another.

“Hestia has English oak,” Rhiannon mentioned toward the shelves. “English oak n’ unicorn, wouldn’t you know? Uses it like a natural. They say Merlin had English oak…”

“Yes, that’s lovely,” Astoria said emptily.

Neville was awarded the wand that chose him regardless of his grandmother’s opinion. She was arguing with Mr Ollivander, and did not hesitate to bring up Neville’s weaknesses in magic all the way to the till. Neville, meanwhile, had sneaked closer to the door. He recognised Astoria from having reviewed for the Astronomy O.W.L. with her a few times. Astoria greeted him and intended to introduce him to Rhiannon and Daphne, but the former had wandered relatively far for the short time interval she had, and the latter was glancing at the back of Neville’s head judgmentally.

“O-Old one broke?” he asked Astoria, staring at her forehead.

Astoria used the excuse to take out her unbroken wand, just to see it in her hands before it would be stolen from her.

“My parents want me to get another one since… well, I’m not the best with this one.”

Neville screwed up his face at her palms. He seemed to be fighting the dimness of the room.

“Is that cherry?” he discerned despite the poor lighting.

“Yes it is.”

Neville looked quickly back at his grandmother, who had just reluctantly paid Mr Ollivander.

“The one I have now is cherry,” he whispered. “This was probably a huge mistake…”

Neville’s grandmother was walking toward him. Astoria’s parents were looking at her, for it was her turn.

“Ah, Mr and Mrs Greengrass,” said Mr Ollivander. “You are here for Astoria, correct?”

That was when Astoria’s defiant heart swelled and raced. Both she and Neville were considered unskilled with magic. Both she and Neville had been chosen by these fussy cherry wands. That was how it was supposed to be. That was how she and Neville would prove themselves great after being considered second-rate for so long. She put her wand back in her pocket.

“No, it was no mistake,” Astoria beamed at Neville. “In fact…”

Astoria turned to Mr Ollivander, thanked him for making her such a positively wonderful wand, and _simply left the shop_ , laughing with Neville. She should have known all along –– her parents were too concerned with keeping up appearances to make a scene in public.


	8. The Prison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my [playlist is located here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy)
> 
> Chapter 8 - "Four-Walled World" by Temple of the Dog

_Some people say things like_ “ _At least it can’t get any worse_.”

Five vicious strangers in silvery masks were having a shouting match with Draco’s mother in the entrance hall. The sixth stranger was bound, hooded, and hopefully only unconscious.

 _They have no imagination_.

The shouting intensified, but no wands were drawn, for the words “Dark Lord’s orders” made it clear that Draco’s mother was to step aside or face something much worse than having her house invaded.

 _Anyone who says that isn’t watching this right now_.

The hooded captive was mobilised, and Draco trailed behind the unwanted company to watch them place him on the floor of the basement. Then the Death Eaters Disapparated. Curiosity and a certain fear of the unknown drove Draco down the stairs even as his mother called after him. Draco was not allowed to untie any ropes, but there was a face to be seen beneath that suffocating cloth. When he approached the body in the basement, he saw that it was an elderly one. It must be a Muggle-born in that case, because why else would they bother to bring such a frail old man here as prisoner? Then again, Albus Dumbledore was nearly the same age, and he was very powerful…

Draco loosened the rope around the neck and pulled off the hood. It was Ollivander, the wandmaker, and he still had a pulse. Draco knew that he was not allowed to do any more for this man and came upstairs with a clenched jaw. His mother locked the basement door with the wand she had bought from the man at the bottom of the stairs. The Malfoy Manor was to be used as a prison that was supposed to make up for the fact that “we don’t got Azkaban ours yet,” as one masked brute had put it.

They certainly did not have Azkaban yet, as each morning, Draco walked down to the breakfast table to find Bellatrix in his father’s seat. Occasionally, he had received notes from his father, short and sloppily-written responses to the pages Draco had sent him. He knew why the replies had been so inadequate: the dementors had once been making his father waste away. But those things were gone from Azkaban at last, and Draco, as the next morning’s mail told him, was allowed to travel to the prison to visit his father.

“It took them long enough!” Draco’s mother exclaimed as she handed a right-of-entry card to him, putting away the boys’ new booklists for the time being. “I applied for these the day of his sentencing! Now, go give Theodore his card and tell him to get ready quickly. I’m not waiting a second longer than _fifteen minutes_.”

She might have to wait a few extra seconds, though, because the Lestranges halted Draco on the staircase.

“Where are you going? What about breakfast? …Hm? What are those, Draco? Hand them here…” Bellatrix spoke, and Draco hesitantly gave her the only tickets that allowed Theodore and him to see their fathers.

“Oh, I see,” she said in a small voice, passing the cards quickly to Rodolphus as though they were dead rodents. “Off to visit Daddy, are we?”

Rodolphus snorted and gave the card to Rabastan, whose hands trembled awfully as he held them. He kept flipping one over top of the other as if he was seeing them anew each time.

“Your mummy never got you a card to visit _me_ ,” Bellatrix brought up yet again. “And she only came once every… oh, what was it, Ro?”

“Once a year, I think. Dementors made it hazy, Bella.”

“Hmph. But Daddy doesn’t have to live with the dementors anymore, does he? No. He doesn’t. _We_ did. And he _never_ visited us, yet he receives visitors!”

“Keeping up appearances, Bella. That’s what Lucius does,” said Rodolphus, taking her arm and walking down the stairs with her. “No real faith in the Dark Lord… Only values himself…”

Draco wished so slightly that Bellatrix and Rodolphus would have stayed a little longer. He was left waiting for Rabastan to give him back the cards, too scared to ask for them. Rabastan nearly looked like he was going to try to swallow them; they were so close to his face.

“These things haven’t changed a bit… Of course, yours say ‘SON’ on ’em, but… Aha, ha…”

Draco had come to hate Rabastan’s laugh. Rabastan drew out each overemphasised “ha” as if he didn’t know what real laughter felt like, but did not let that stop him from expelling sound.

“Oh, you want these?”

Draco lifted his hand.

“ _SO DID I!_ ” Rabastan screamed in his face, spit flying. He was holding two edges of the cards, threatening to rip them.

 _That’s okay_. _He’s trying to scare me_. _I can always Mend them_.

Rabastan looked Draco straight in the eye, but Draco had been learning how to defend his mind from even him. Rabastan’s Legilimency was only so strong, and, at the moment, Rabastan himself was too mentally compromised to succeed in Legilimency.

“You keep in mind, Malfoy, that everyone you walk past on your way to your father’s cell will see you. There is nothing else to look at in that place except the people that manage to get in there once every year, or once every month, or… _or twice a day_ … The others will see you, and they will remember you, and it will make it so much easier for them to lose their minds because there is no contact there for them. And people like you go in and out as you please and visit _whom_ you please and only give us something to watch… to watch and to think about.”

 _Maybe someone who craves as much attention as you do should have considered that before doing something without orders that would get them life in Azkaban_ , Draco thought daringly.

Rabastan did not sense it. He dropped the cards –– except his pity card, of course –– and trotted down the staircase.

 _No one would visit that pig_ , Draco thought as he picked up the cherished cards, glad at the fact that Rabastan had not got his way during his time in prison. But the thought lingered for a few extra moments in Draco’s head, during which time he reasoned that, if not incarcerated themselves, Rodolphus and Bellatrix probably would have visited him. Draco remembered someone else who would have written Rabastan a poem per visit…

“We’ve received passes,” Draco said loudly.

Theodore emerged from his hibernatory cave, sporting that beard he had grown since his shave at the barbers’ and the chin-length hair to match.

“Azkaban? Let me shave, and I’ll be ready.”

“My mother doesn’t want to wait,” Draco indicated.

“And my dad doesn’t need to think I’m letting myself go,” Theodore said, splashing his scraggly face with water.

Draco scratched his bare cheek a little self-consciously. He wasn’t remotely as dark as Theodore was, and the hair that he did have on his face was not the right texture. Draco’s lack of facial hair wouldn’t have mattered much if the likes of scrawny little Theodore didn’t have the capability of growing as much hair as a Quintaped. But Draco considered the fact that his father was always clean-shaven. It looked more dignified. If it didn’t, Theodore would have kept his face furry for the visitation.

Draco took his mother’s right arm, and Theodore gripped her left, and they Apparated to the banks of a steep, rocky island which cast them under a cold shadow. The rock was all black from wet water; at parts of the season, it must have been submerged. The principal smell was of the sea’s salty mist, though Draco was more conscious of the odours of wet soil, fish remnants, and rotting foliage simply because they were less pleasant. The water hit the craggy island so hard that he was getting stung with water himself. He glanced at a tall tower in the misty distance and was trying to locate the trail that would lead to it when Theodore coughed at him. Draco looked back to see his mother pointing her wand at the top of the tower. He was very confused. There was no way that the three of them were going to be able to break anybody out of this complex.

All at once, the top of the tower flashed a brilliant blue ray out to the open sea, and Draco’s mother put her wand away. The tower on the island was not the prison itself; it was a lighthouse to signal their arrival to the guards. Theodore was not asking any questions because he wanted to pretend like he knew exactly what they were doing, but Draco stepped forward –– and found himself in the barrel chest of a wizard with a Ministry-purple coat.

“Right-of-entry cards and I.D. numbers,” the wizard ordered, pushing Draco away.

After the required identification was given, the wizard took off his hat and drew a crimped sort of wand at it, saying, “ _Portus_.” The next move was theirs. After travelling via the Portkey hat, Draco ignored his motion sickness to his best ability and examined his new surroundings. He was in a low-ceilinged, windowless room that was well lit but poorly maintained. The puddles on the floor were established enough to host algae, structurally fatal cracks in the walls were being supported with magic, and air circulation was too much to ask for. Draco’s mother was rushing through registration at an ugly old desk, repulsed by the environment and hoping as much as Draco was that his father was not living in these conditions.

“Only _your_ name,” said the guardswizard at the desk. “Everybody signs theirselfs in.”

Draco’s mother was motioned to stand by the wizard who had made the Portkey and wait. Draco stepped forward and dipped the featherless quill into diluted ink. What he saw on the most recent sheet of the registration book disturbed him.

**AZKABAN PRISON NON-MINISTRY REGISTRATION.**

**List VISITOR name, PRISONER name, VISITOR relation to PRISONER, REASON for visit, DATE and TIME IN & OUT.**

Sinistra, Aurora. Crouch, Barty Jr. WIFE. Personal. 04/01/96, 10:12 – 12/01/96, 09:03

Sinistra, Aurora. Crouch, Barty Jr. WIFE. Personal. 13/01/96, 09:47 –

Sinistra, Aurora. Crouch, Barty Jr. WIFE. Body Claim. 17/01/96, 00:47 – 01:09.

Sinistra, Aurora. Crouch, Euley. DIL. Body Claim. 20/01/96, 08:23 – 10:00.

Travers, Damon. Travers, Les. BROTHER. Personal. 19/05/96, 13:10 – 15:07

Malfoy, Narcissa. Malfoy, Lucius. WIFE. Personal. 01/08/96, 09:58 –

It was one of those things that had to be saved for later, a thing too bizarre for the moment. Draco scribbled his information on the parchment and watched Theodore as he did the same. Theodore’s expression did not change when he saw what Draco had seen about Sinistra. Draco and his mother were escorted up the left staircase and Theodore was escorted up the right. Maybe the environment was different where Theodore was going.

Each stone step had a large amount of moss on its sides, and, in fact, a certain amount of it was even through the middle of the path where people would have worn it down… if there were any people taking these stairs on a regular basis. This promulgated plant served as a home for small insects that Draco spotted in the chilly light from the dirty windows. Draco’s mother held a sleeve to her face and kept her free hand only hovering above the icy, metal handrail. The wizard leading them was equally disgusted with the place and cursed “whoever left the stair this way after the dementors got out.”

“Dementors were the only ones up here before?” Draco’s asked, scandalised. “They couldn’t have delivered the _food_ …?”

“Food appears in the cells. Got a few house-elves that cook. Yeah, the A.S.O. never did much, as you prob’ly know. Mostly here for financial business, they were. I’m a new hire. They added about twenty to the team since the dementors left.”

Draco was thankful that his right-of-entry card had not arrived during the time of dementor management. He would have never made it up the stairs. The worker escorting them, who evidently had been hardly trained, continued speaking, hungry for underprovided conversation.

“Eh, you can look at it one way, because now everybody’s anticipating more escapes. Dementor’s Kiss is off the table, if you think about it, and now we’re understaffed. Or you can look at it another way, because I hardly think Sirius Black would have escaped if there were humans round, and I know for sure that Crouch wouldn’t’ve. ’Course, the bit with Black was a twist in the end, wasn’t it?”

Draco’s was peering in each door they passed and only seeing a stone wall each time. The walls were set only far back enough for the doors to open, which hazardously all opened toward the inside. It provoked the feeling of being trapped in a public toilet stall. The moisture in the air was clinging to any bare skin it could find on Draco. More than once did he stumble, a near victim of the slime on the steps. After they passed the nineteenth floor, though, the moss was totally gone, though the same dampness remained. Finally, after aching unimaginably from the walk of twenty-three flights of stairs, Draco saw the worker releasing spells on the last door.

“Who you here for again –– oh, Malfoy, shoulda known.”

The guardswizard entered the corridor first, then Draco’s mother, then Draco. The corridor was so thin that no one could walk next to someone else. Something dripped on Draco’s head, but he had not been dry for a while.

“I remember fixing these last couple wards –– almost the whole south side was gone.”

“ _Where is my husband_?”

“He’s at the end, Missus. We’ve got a bit of a walk yet.”

Draco had rarely been so uncomfortable and sore. He was in an extremely dark labyrinth with the illusion of suffocation teasing his mind. It reeked of urine and must. The worker kept saying “ _Point Me_ ” to his lit wand, which spun round dizzyingly. An inordinate amount of turns later, they saw the first cell, which was empty. It was adjacent only to stone walls and, as every cell in the prison was, solitary. Draco was not expecting the window in the cell after all he had seen, but the mocking sliver of light only gave a faint gleam to part of the floor.

“Keep up, dear,” his mother said, and he recalled that Theodore was doing this alone.

They made another turn in the compressive maze. In the next cell, a large, round shadow rose from the boulder of a bed. Draco had the feeling that the prisoner might have been Mr Crabbe, but again they were turning at a fork. The inmates of the next two cells were right against the bars. Both of them were chained by the wrists to the walls, and both of them emitted a smell so bad that Draco stepped on his mother’s heels in trying to hurry away.

“Malfoy. Visitors,” said the worker before Draco could even spot his father’s cell.

The clanging of chains sounded throughout what little space there was. Soon, Draco was standing in front of a trace of his father, who reached his chained arms out as far as he could toward his family. The worker insensitively broke them up and told the non-prisoners that they were to visit inside of the cell whilst he stood in the corridor. After the hugging, which was unpleasant due to the chains stretching through the middle of the room and the sweatiness of Draco’s father’s uniform, most of the initial conversation amongst the family was nothing more than complaining about the squalidness of the whole complex. Draco’s father put great emphasis on the fact that he was in what was outrageously considered a “good” cell, a cell that had to be rebuilt after the January breakout. Draco’s mother surprisingly said that this was at least a joke of an improvement; when she had visited Bellatrix in the past, there was slime mould in all parts of the cell, and Bellatrix had been covered in mites and ringworm. Draco didn’t want to think of that; his father looked bad enough. His hair had been chopped, though it nonetheless had knots in it, and his face was sallow, thin, and patched with prickly hair. One of his eyes was red with infection. He looked like a diseased beggar, and Draco wanted to know the names of everyone who was responsible for it. With that sour feeling, he looked out of the cage and at the A.S.O. worker, whose back leaned against the glistening wall. He made no effort to conjure furniture for the family. Draco’s father’s chains rattled as he slid the wrist hooks across the room and tried to make a decent place on the cot for his family to sit. His sleeves slid up from this motion, and the Dark Mark became visible. He had no idea about the one on his son’s arm.

If anybody could give Draco advice about the Dumbledore mission, about how to safely be a Death Eater, it was his father, who had been a Death Eater for over twenty years. Yet Draco could not speak of any of it here just as he could not write about it: nothing in prison was private. Even if he _could_ speak of it, he probably would only mention how much of an honour it was, that he was capable, and that completing the mission might get his father out of Azkaban quicker. Draco would leave out the part about the terror he felt. He was still counting on being able to overcome that feeling.

Draco and his mother were there for three and a half hours, during which time they were relieved to see that food did, in fact, arrive. Draco’s father dined gracelessly with those hindering chains –– an upsetting sight. In response to his wife’s concerns about the infamous prison undernourishment, Mr Malfoy said that since the dementors left, he had eaten regularly. Overall, the visit had made Draco feel better, even if the nasty trips to and from the cell had felt like they equalled the time they spent there. The card in Draco’s pocket reassured him that he could always come back.

Theodore was waiting for them in that catacomb of a reception area. Draco explained that their escort was dawdling and unfortunately talkative.

“Dad says it’s nothing like it was when the dementors were here,” Theodore conversed. “It’s pretty awful now, though, so it’s tough to imagine…”

“Did you have to go through a maze to get there?” Draco asked.

“Yeah, the whole prison is a maze except for this floor, hospice, and the staircases. Dad told me in one of his letters that he didn’t even know where he was in the prison. The guard didn’t like it when I told him. He’s on the north side of the twenty-first floor. It smells like compost there.”

“My father’s in one of the rebuilt cells,” Draco said. It seemed to have an air of distinction about it when compared with the rest of the prison. He clung to that notion.

The trio took showers when they arrived back at the manor because the dirt they imagined they had been accumulating in Azkaban turned out to be real. Draco’s thoughts wandered in the shower, and he recalled something that might have been of importance. He afterward visited Theodore with a frank question.

“Do you think Sinistra is with _us_?”

“‘Us’ is not a pronoun I use for these people,” Theodore mumbled.

“Stop it. You know what I mean.”

“Do you mean ‘with’ them ideologically? The answer to that is no.”

With irritation, Draco said, “What _do_ you think?”

“It’s a matter of conjecture. It’s clear that she’s a blood-traitor and went so far as to fight alone against the Death Eaters during the prison breakout. She’s no sympathiser. The question arises when one takes into account her continued closeness with Snape and her marriage to Crouch. We know that they are and were amongst the closest to the Dark Lord, equal to only the Lestranges. They came to Crouch young, so it’s not like she’s unaware.

“Additional factors would be the ‘death’ of her husband, providing she did not know he lived after 1982, or, providing she did know, the fact that she could not locate him. If the Dark Lord, after obtaining the location of Crouch Jr from Jorkins, came to Sinistra with this information, I think she would consider herself indebted to the Dark Lord, regardless of the lack of logic in that, and might have agreed to cover for her husband during the Moody operation.

“What is much more likely is that she became involved simply because those already close to her were involved, which would explain her detachment from the ideology but familiarity with such prominent figures. If this is the case, her future is insecure, so her fear must keep her quiet.”

It was a lot to digest, but the inquiring mind should always be prepared for the prolix answers of Theodore Nott. He, after all, had much knowledge of the subject, likely sourced from his father, and his nature was to analyse everything about everything. That same nature provoked another one of his tactless remarks:–

“I do know for a fact that she _isn’t_ going to help you murder Dumbledore.”

“ _I wasn’t asking because of that_!”

“Weren’t you?” Theodore scoffed.


	9. Worries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV is Rhiannon here (not sure if it was clear enough).
> 
> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my [playlist is located here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy)
> 
> Chapter 9 - "Full of It" by Summer Cannibals

Astoria had really done it when she scarpered from Ollivander’s, but she hadn’t been there to see the looks on her parents’ faces like Rhiannon had. They were furious with Astoria –– not so much for never having got the new wand, no –– but for embarrassing them so badly in front of Mr Ollivander. That hardly mattered anymore, Rhiannon thought, because Ollivander went missing the day after and probably had much more to think about if he was still thinking at all.

Astoria had planned her getaway shrewdly. She had hung about Neville Longbottom and his grandma as a method of defence: when the group had finally located Astoria in Madam Malkin’s, her parents could not find a chance to scold her in front of the Longbottoms without making a scene. Only during the walk to the In.fine.it. Records Headquarters did Mr and Mrs Greengrass get to put in a few words about shame and unreasonableness and the like. Both girls were also told upfront that their album was the most vulgar thing they had ever listened to, and they yelled at Astoria about the image she was choosing to portray. Then Rhiannon and Astoria were relieved from the scolding when they were called to the meeting, but there was nothing to be optimistic about with that, either.

First of all, Hestia and Flora, who needed to be there, had obviously not been there. Astoria, who wasn’t going to talk about the twins or offer a helpful word, had sat there wide-eyed whilst Rhiannon explained to their producer Mr Davis, their manager Leonard Mongaby, and an In.fine.it. tycoon that the twins’ aunt and uncle weren’t letting them leave the house for something like this. The meeting had continued with great tension, with the tycoon giving the impression that he felt he was wasting his time speaking with teenagers. It was he who had informed them that _Fylth_ would not be released internationally and that its album cycle had been cut to end at the same time as _Fed Lines_ ’s. Astoria had had no comment, and Rhiannon had known better than to risk arguing. Then the girls were given unreasonable deadlines. They had until the fourteenth of December to present their demos for another album, and only a week to modify them, because recording was scheduled for the day after they came home from school for Christmas.

Things after the meeting had been tense, and Mr and Mrs Greengrass had only added to it with further lectures about Astoria’s misdemeanour and the importance of staying in one group at Diagon Alley. Rhiannon had had her own lectures to give to Astoria, namely, the “Get Your Shit in Gear because we’re Going to Lose our Contract Otherwise” sermon and the “Next Time Don’t Stay up All Night with Malfoy before the Day of Recording” tirade. Astoria didn’t listen to anything anyone said that day; she had carried on to Rhiannon about how almost everything of hers from _Fylth_ had been scrapped or mutilated anyway, so that she was not in the wrong, and that Draco had needed her support more than a thousand strangers listening to music would ever need her to be well-rested. (To her lucky parents, Astoria had been as silent as she was loud with Rhiannon).

Just to get back on terms with Astoria again, Rhiannon ended up placing the majority of the blame on the In.fine.it. executive and Mongaby, who had only spent a week and a half promoting the album. Astoria heartily agreed and, with logic and a little bit of maths, discovered that there was no way that In.fine.it. was losing money with _Fylth_. Though the contract that the Greengrasses negotiated was mostly in the band members’ favour, promotion had been scant and production in the Wizarding music industry was cheap. The execs were probably fed up with the terms of the contract since they were normally used to gobbling up the majority of the pie. But getting to the roots of the problem was only good for the girls’ relationship with each other. It didn’t solve the hurdle of working for the rest of the summer to get their contract back to safety.

Almost as if to prove a point that Rhiannon was making a bigger deal of music-related things than necessary, though, worse things did crop up. Dementor attacks were making the headlines. One Kiss here, one Kiss there –– thinking of the victims and their families made one feel so awful. There was a growing sense that anybody could be next… And not just for the Dementor’s Kiss. Witches and wizards all over the country were either being attacked by undercover Death Eaters or going missing. The new Minister, Rufus Scrimgeour, was asserting that he was doing everything in his power to fight the Dark forces and keep Wizardkind safe, but how much power the Ministry of Magic still had was up for debate. Because of this undisclosed but obvious instability, _Witch Weekly_ projected that Hogwarts enrolment would plummet for the 1996-1997 school year. In fact, one morning, Mr and Mrs Greengrass were discussing an important letter from “Dromeda’s girl,” a.k.a. Tonks, which apparently confirmed the new security measures to be taken at Hogwarts. It surprised Rhiannon to think that Adam Greengrass had not considered home-schooling his girls again.

Then there was the shadow. Rhiannon had a habit of checking her broken piece of Foe-Glass each morning, noon, and night to see if any threats were getting bigger. It wasn’t exactly business as usual, because more shadows had been appearing than ever before. They were always very hazy though: a sign that Quennell Park was a safe place to be. But there was one shadow that kept moving forward and backward in the plane and changing position almost every day that seemed like an enemy who was trying to figure out something. For a brief moment on the last night of July, Rhiannon thought she might have seen a clearer outline of the head, but of course, she could not recognise it. Sometimes, she felt, her “Foe-Shard” caused her more stress than it was worth. She had her nose in it during the school shopping trip to Diagon Alley, a place that was almost unrecognisable. Astoria made a comment that the entirety of Diagon Alley had come to look like Knockturn Alley. Her parents instantly questioned how she would know what Knockturn Alley looked like, and she responded that it had merely been a figure of speech.

The trip was short, but not too short for Rhiannon to find out where kids were getting their wands with Ollivander’s’ being deserted. Most of the crowd was going to Jimmy Kiddle’s, the place where Rhiannon had no choice but to buy her cheap wand. It sort of legitimatised the place for her, and she watched it a little reminiscently as she waited to purchase her schoolbooks.

“Oh my,” Astoria said.

Rhiannon looked away from the window in Flourish and Blotts and followed the direction of Astoria’s nod. Placed strategically by the checkout line were July’s bestsellers; most of them had to do with countering the Dark arts. Astoria picked up a copy of a blue-jacketed book, and Rhiannon felt her jaw drop. _Thirty Things to Expect from the Dementor_ ’ _s Kiss_ by Aurora M. Sinistra was quickly added to Rhiannon’s and Astoria’s purchases. But neither of the girls got round to reading it. Neither of them really wanted to.

The rest of August was spent true to form: the girls made music. Astoria’s inspiration finally kicked in; she wrote about people. To balance that, Rhiannon wrote about concepts. _Fylth_ had mostly seen it the reverse way for their lyrics, which was probably why it had turned out so loud and angry. The biggest difference, though, was that Rhiannon and Astoria were mostly writing separately and only came to each other about the matters of their respective instrumental parts. It was a little weird, but it seemed to be working. Astoria was getting up earlier and could be found before breakfast playing her heart out at the grand piano in the music room, the insides of her elbows red and broken out in wheals. Rhiannon, with her sore neck and blistered fingers, was staying up later but still shamelessly hiding her underage Trace in the magic of the adults, because she needed spells to activate her guitar.

Music had once again become the escape. Even with Rhiannon’s career on the line, she was able to appreciate the music as a warm, protective blanket that shielded her mind against bigger worries. She could not cast a corporeal Patronus. Nervous letters in French had been zooming in by the half-dozen from Mrs Ciel-Greengrass’s side of the family. Death Eaters were slowly adding names to the obituaries. And when Astoria packed to leave for school, she boxed up several things in her room that she was not taking but might need to take somewhere else far away.

“Just in case,” she told Rhiannon.


	10. The Student Sieve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my [playlist is located here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy)
> 
> Chapter 10 - "Popular" by Nada Surf

When the Hogwarts Express started to pull out of the station on the first of September, Astoria had a burning feeling that she should not have been on it. The images of her parents and grandparents left her window first, and soon all of the students’ families were out of view. The train, therefore, seemed like such a defenceless place. If there were supposed to be Aurors on board, where were they?

Though it was nice to see Flora and Hestia, Rhiannon had immediately treated them more as bandmates than as friends and had dispensed the unhappy updates about Pariah and In.fine.it. Records. Flora looked like she could not care less, whereas Hestia never really recovered from the news, even after the fact when she and Rhiannon chatted about the O.W.L.s.

“That reminds me… How did you do on the Astronomy O.W.L.?” Flora asked.

“Outstandingly,” Astoria beamed.

“Well, that makes _one_ student in the N.E.W.T. class,” Flora joked.

“Neville Longbottom told me he was taking it too,” Astoria mentioned.

Hestia and Rhiannon stopped talking. Flora rubbed her forehead.

“Department-of-Mysteries Neville Longbottom?” Hestia asked in a slightly scandalised tone.

“Now, how many Neville Longbottoms are running about?” Astoria said. “Listen, I know what you two are thinking, but Professor Sinistra is all right.”

“ _All right_? Nobody who was ‘all right’ would have the material to write that book like she did. _Have_ you read the book? _Did_ you hear who she was married to?” Flora pressed.

Astoria had known for many months whom Professor Sinistra had married.

“Yes, I’ve read her book,” said Astoria for convenience, though it wasn’t true.

“Sinistra’s a good person,” Rhiannon said with finality.

Flora raised her eyebrows. Then she rested her eyes, trying to doze off.

“She’s a bit down about not getting appointed as a prefect,” Hestia whispered.

“I can hear you,” Flora mumbled.

“I know. Hey, what about you, Astoria? Some of your cousins were prefects, weren’t they?”

“Er, several have been,” Astoria said. Over the summer, she had not been thinking of things like prefect status and had hardly considered herself prefect material. However, with the topic raised, she started to wonder, a bit indignantly, why she had not been selected for the duty. Did she not seem assertive enough? In contrast, did she seem like the type who would dock points for loose ties and shoes not shined? Astoria felt a glare at Hestia coming on but halted it. The girls had company. Rhiannon sat a little straighter, hoping that a fan of Pariah had located them, but that was not the case at all. The young witch who entered their compartment was only there to deliver each of them a scroll. Astoria hadn’t any idea regarding who on the train would contact them in this manner and opened her letter a little wearily.

There was nothing to fear. It was merely an invitation to lunch, written in a variety of calligraphy that took several obnoxious liberties. She sighed when she saw that the addresser was Professor Slughorn, who had been her father’s potions instructor but was now likely going to teach D.A.D.A.

“What are you waiting for, Astoria? Let’s go get food,” Hestia said.

Astoria laughed, “I should tell you about some of the conversations my family has had regarding Professor Slughorn!”

“Huh? You know him? Does he have good grub?” Rhiannon asked.

“Yes, I would think he does. That isn’t the issue. He likes to associate with students whom he thinks have potential… potential to give him expensive gifts. He is a very materialistic man. It’s funny that I’ve received an invitation to his club after so many in my family have declined.”

“Persistent old sod, is he? Well, I want you to come with the band and get some free food. Nobody said yeh _had_ to shower him with gifts later in life,” Rhiannon pronounced.

Astoria and her friends arrived at Slughorn’s compartment, and Flora tapped on the door. The portly old professor stood in the threshold, a bit beside himself, gaping at the Greengrass more so than any of his other guests. At first, Astoria could not see round his girth to see whom else he had invited.

“Why, it’s Adam Greengrass’s girl!” he said in a hearty voice, taking her hand from the bottom and tapping the top of it with the hand of his which displayed more chunky rings. Astoria faked a smile. She then looked to her left and right and did not see any of her relatives because they knew better than to come.

“Come in! Come in! You know Blaise, I assume! A fellow Slytherin, he is!” Slughorn boomed at Astoria, continuing to ignore her three friends until they fully entered the compartment.

It was not a pleasant entrance. Sitting by the window was Blaise Zabini, a terrible enemy of Astoria due to the way he had treated her sister and Rhiannon. Zabini, like Astoria, had been invited because of his fortune. However, it was rumoured that his mother came to possess that fortune through a series of killings of her seven late husbands. There was never a trace of proof of this after investigations, so _that_ apparently made it okay in Slughorn’s mind. Reliably, Zabini was looking utterly disgusted at Ginny Weasley, who sat across from him, and made a point to distribute the glare amongst the other girls as well.

“Ah, the Carrow twins are here!” Slughorn said belatedly. “Hestia, I know all about your skill with potionmaking,” he beamed at Flora, failing to explain his source of knowledge. “And Flora! Why, your skill in Arithmancy hardly knows boundaries!” he said to a disgruntled Hestia.

“Goodness, it’s Rhiannon Clarke,” he continued, a bit forced. “M’dear, you shall be in history books one day –– yes, you shall! Have a seat, all; have a seat!”

Astoria, who was first in line to take a seat, made a desperate step toward Ginny. That motion was overpowered by Slughorn’s belly, and Astoria fell into a tight seat on the other side of the professor. Flora braved the seat next to Zabini, whilst Hestia and Rhiannon somehow made two spots out of one.

“I will need to Extend this compartment soon. You see, I have invited four others!”

Daphne, Sofronia, Adamina, and Asenath were very unlikely to pay Slughorn this visit, so he shouldn’t have _needed_ to do anything, although the students present would have liked some more space anyway.

“Who else did you invite?” Zabini demanded stiffly. “…Sir?”

“Oh, some very good company indeed! Cormac McLaggen, see, he’s _bound_ for the Ministry… half his family is already there! Marcus Belby as well, only the nephew of the very wizard who invented the Wolfsbane Potion –– ah, you know Belby, Rhiannon? No? Oh, I see; well, I also invited Neville Longbottom and… _Harry Potter_. I’m sure you know of them!”

“We’re good friends,” mentioned Ginny, looking grateful that more people whom she did not hate were on the way.

The reasons for Astoria to leave were increasing in number. Slughorn was after money and power: two things Astoria had which, to many, made her the ideal acquaintance. Astoria absolutely hated when people offered dishonest friendship or treated her preferentially hoping for return on investment. If she was not a Greengrass, who would pay the slightest bit of attention to her? Rhiannon, Flora, Hestia, and Ginny would, but Slughorn would not. Astoria’s individuality meant nothing. It was difficult to find honest people, and some people were as bad as Slughorn, who considered the cold, prejudiced Zabini somebody important.

Slughorn was asking Flora about her “interest in potions,” which made Astoria realise that her friends had _not_ been invited to lunch because they were in a band, which was particularly important to Rhiannon. Rhiannon was only there because she was a sensation as the first Muggle-born Slytherin and maybe even because she was connected with a Greengrass…

Actually, maybe Astoria was the choicest amongst the currently enrolled Greengrasses in Slughorn’s mind. Even with no commitment, some of her cousins might have just shown up for the food. But they were nowhere to be seen, and Slughorn had not mentioned inviting them at all.

Maybe the fact that Asenath’s brother Renshaw was a Squib bothered Slughorn. That prejudice would have been the only explanation for the brilliant Kippling sisters being ignored. It wasn’t like their different surname had gone over Slughorn’s head; everybody knew that Laureline Greengrass married Salomon Kippling, a Squib. Adam Greengrass’s specific line was considered “clean” by people who concerned themselves with the absurdities of bloodlore. The twins and Zabini would be favoured by Death Eaters. Rhiannon’s Muggle parentage was what made her special as a Slytherin, but it was not necessarily what Slughorn preferred.

He was chatting with Hestia and Ginny about charms when Astoria inserted, “Oh, did you see the article my cousin Adamina had published in _Challenges in Charming_ last month? She is only sixteen.”

“I –– I did, yes,” said Slughorn with a nod. “Very special those Kippling girls are. Very talented young ladies. Funny how it goes that way, isn’t it, m’dear?”

“Is it?” Astoria bit.

Obliviously, Slughorn said, “Well, one might have thought that they would have been put at a disadvantage… with their father’s, er…”

“Disability?” Astoria said loudly, watching people shift their eyes from her for no reason. “I _hope_ we don’t consider that a shameful topic here.”

“Oh, not at all,” said Slughorn quickly. “I’m only saying how remarkable it is that––”

“No, it isn’t remarkable,” Astoria countered. “My uncle Salomon had his girls well-versed in Arithmancy before they were even old enough to take the course. Sofronia and Adamina are much better at witchcraft than I am, but I understand you find that surprising.”

The sound of Rhiannon’s chewing surfaced in the quietness. When she swallowed, she offered a hand to Astoria. They left the compartment with the twins close behind. Ginny, Astoria saw, had been blocked from the exit by Slughorn’s behind as he stuck his shiny head out of the door.

“Oh, _me_ ,” he muttered into his moustache. “Not again…”

Only a few steps away from their compartment, Flora and Hestia said they were going to turn round and get in line for the W.C., so Rhiannon and Astoria were left to speak in private.

“I didn’t know he’s that way. I thought, y’know, since he invited _me_ …”

“He isn’t like Zabini, but, as you know, Zabini _was_ present.”

“So, what is he? Like a closet racist or somethin’?”

“Essentially. He isn’t hateful, but he would expect me to get better marks than you. As you saw, he should have invited Sofronia and Adamina if he had bothered to invite me, but…”

“Sometimes I think Squibs get it worse than Muggle-borns. And that’s sayin’ something ’cause I know what it’s like as a Muggle-born. Nobody sticks up for Squibs, really, ’cept your family. Isn’t that right?”

“Well, I wouldn’t minimise anything Muggle-borns have had to endure. What is appalling is that otherwise Muggle-friendly people can be so nasty when it comes to the matter of Squibs. If you don’t mind keeping a secret, Neville told me that when his family thought he might be a Squib, they would do things to test him, like dangle him over ledges or throw him in deep water. He was only a toddler, too, but at _any_ age!”

“That’s stupid. And all to see if he had magic. It was just the opposite with my parents, they tried to beat it out of me,” Rhiannon sighed. “Did, er, did your parents ever think you were a Squib? I know they kept you home-schooled because of how that wand made you…”

“Maybe they did at one point,” Astoria considered, a grim feeling spreading over her as she remembered being babysat by Renshaw.

“Some people got a theory that I’m a descendant from a Squib, believe it or not. Ata–– Ata-something, they call it. Magic in Muggle-borns. Makes sense, don’t it? What do you think?”

“Oh, it’s ‘atavism.’ Yes, I believe that is a sound hypothesis, but to use it as an argument in the favour of Muggle-borns against a supremacist hardly gets the job done. The argument for atavism can give the impression that Muggle-borns are ‘passable’ or something because they have magical ancestry far back. You shouldn’t need to be _sponsored_ by that idea. You’re a witch because you can perform magic, just as I am a witch, and that’s the end of it,” Astoria declared.

Rhiannon unexpectedly drew her into a hug. At that point, Astoria had only been able to appropriately hug Rhiannon when, unbeknownst to Astoria, Barty Crouch Jr died and Rhiannon was horribly upset. Hugs like they used to share in what felt like the distant past might cause Rhiannon pain or an unpleasant bittersweetness, because she used to fancy Astoria. The problem was that Astoria was a natural hugger. A second problem: the timing was deplorable.

“What’s this?” Hestia asked stonily, staring at her friends hugging as Flora slid the door shut behind them.

Through the glass, Astoria saw that a crowd had hazardously filled the passageway. Surely not all those people had come to see them hug.

“Oh, that’s about Potter, that is,” Flora said of the mass of students. She took her sister by the arm and sat her next to Rhiannon as though she was presenting a baby with her favourite teddy bear. The effect, frankly, was not much different, as Hestia calmed significantly.

“We nearly collided with him trying to get away from all these buffoons,” Flora continued, rolling her eyes. “The poor kid’s going straight toward Slytherin territory, though. Crabbe and Malfoy and all…”

Flora continued with an unnecessary description: “Parkinson’s _all over_ Malfoy, disgusting as ever. I mean, honestly, nobody needs to witness that level of snogging.”

Flora found Astoria’s grimace hilarious, whereas Hestia was obviously reassured by it. Rhiannon saw it, too, though, and her suspicions rose. It was going to be a long year if Astoria could not get this involuntary reaction under control.


	11. Toutatis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Flora briefly refers to Amortentia as a date rape drug.
> 
> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my [playlist is located here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy)
> 
> Chapter 11 - "A Tour of the Stars" by Let's Away

Parkinson arrived in the Great Hall with her nose aberrantly in a book. She was so engulfed in it that she slid into the seat next to Astoria and her friends without even a sneer.

“Where’s Malfoy?” Millicent Bulstrode asked, relocating her group to sit near their ever-charming epicentre.

“‘ _Checking something_ ,’” Parkinson replied with a hint of irritation at both Millicent and Draco. She had not seemed to notice that her roommates hadn’t saved a spot for Draco, something that would normally cause a spat.

“Is that a D.A.D.A. book? Don’t tell me we have a book report already! I didn’t think that book was on the list…” Heather Thatcham said to her roommates.

“It wasn’t,” Daphne said without even looking at Parkinson’s book.

Astoria could not get a good look at the book and lost interest. Draco had arrived, looking like he had been running. He took the nearest seat to the door and started some dramatic narrative about having fought with Harry Potter. Astoria lost interest in that, too, until Harry Potter arrived with blood all over his face. She was instantly disgusted with Draco and spent the rest of the opening feast going with the routine: watching the Sorting, learning who the new D.A.D.A. teacher was (Professor Snape this year, with Slughorn teaching Potions), being warned of evil forces and danger, and conversing with her friends about classes.

Sliding her fingers down the pages of her book so as not to be distracted by noise, Parkinson was rather well-behaved even though she was sitting next to Astoria and not Draco. She didn’t even hear Hestia’s wise-crack about the book being “anger management self-help.” Though she was irritated when it was time to direct first-years as part of her duties as a prefect, she did the job better than her boyfriend, who was still telling stories to Crabbe and Goyle on the way to the dungeons. With Transfiguration first thing in the morning, Astoria and her roommates were making a beeline for their room, yet attempted beelines were Draco’s favourite things to interrupt.

“Astoria! You and I are partners for Astronomy, right?” he called.

Preserving some of her dignity, Astoria declared that she wasn’t keen about being partners with somebody who had just bloodied another student’s face.

“He was _spying_ on me!” Draco defended. His two cronies nodded.

“I’m sure he wasn’t spying on you and Parkinson –– that couldn’t’ve been pretty,” Rhiannon laughed.

Instead of picking a fight with Rhiannon, which would have secured the answer “no” from Astoria, he instead pulled the card Astoria always used.

“How would you like it if someone you hated was listening to your conversation?”

“I doubt she’d smash their face in,” Theodore Nott chimed in from his seat at the fireplace. “And leave them immobilised on the train––”

“Well, it depends what sort of mood you found her in…” Flora remarked.

Astoria had eavesdropped on her fair share of conversations, and she certainly would not expect the same treatment that Draco gave to Harry. At the same time, she was having fond thoughts of getting back at Parkinson for her general existence. She had imagined, and to an unfortunate extent _hoped_ , that she and Draco would be partners for this class, which is why she spent so much time preparing him for the Astronomy O.W.L. the previous year. However, he had asked at a bad time: a time when her answer to him would reflect _her_ character. Why couldn’t he have asked her when they were having a peaceful moment? Astoria only knew of a few of her other options, though. Her cousin, Adamina Kippling, would be taking N.E.W.T. Astronomy, but being her partner had the potential to bring up a rivalry. Adamina had a lot of friends in any case, and had probably already secured a partner. Neville Longbottom was taking the class, but if the stories about him were true, Astoria did not want to be more of a tutor than a partner to him during group work. Theodore, an intelligent, organised, and reliable student, was sitting serenely at the fireside. But partnering with Theodore would be a one-way ticket to emotional exhaustion. On top of that, even though he rarely showed it, Theodore’s prejudices might have been more ingrained than Draco’s, who merely believed everything his parents told him and liked to fit in in a crowd. Theodore had made some comments in the past that were manifestly his _own_ conclusions. Phrases such as “I guess I’ll use kinder terms with you” and “I’ve become mixed up with you” were patronising bites that sank a little deeper than Draco’s snarky or thoughtless comments, simply because Theodore had said them with such a straight face… and no audience.

“I’m in a forgiving mood now,” Astoria said to Draco. “I’ll be your Astronomy partner only if you agree to help me with Transfiguration.”

“Deal,” Draco said in Theodore’s direction before striding up the stairs to his dorm.

“Really, Astoria,” Rhiannon said, her eyelids drooping. “I know you think you and Draco’s friends and all, but he really hurt Harry…”

“You’re rather loyal to Harry, but he never goes out of his way to say hello to you or anything. You got him a Christmas gift last year; did he ever thank you for that?” Astoria enquired.

“I don’t think he can afford to get gifts for everyone, Astoria!”

“A simple ‘thank you,’ Rhiannon, is entirely free. Might I remind you that last year, it was _Hermione_ who invited you to that D.A.D.A. club, not Harry? And when his Weasley friend accused you of giving information to Umbridge, _Hermione_ defended you, not Harry. She hardly even knows you, but Harry does!”

“I’m done with this conversation. Harry had enough on his mind last year.”

“So did you,” Astoria said logically, but Rhiannon had a habit of choosing when she would or would not listen to logic. Rhiannon almost certainly thought the same of Astoria, who quickly found herself at the bottom of the stairs alone.

“Do you have a key?” Theodore asked quietly.

“This time I do,” Astoria sighed. “I assume Draco told you about––”

“About when they kicked you out of your room, yes. You four don’t get on as well as you pretend, do you? I always thought you were inseparable.”

“We –– we have our days. All friends do. You of all people should know that.”

“Too well,” he grunted.

To let things with Rhiannon and the twins cool off, Astoria decided to spend some time warming up. The crackle of the fire was very inviting, and even though she had her qualms when it came to Theodore, she had not seen him in a while and missed his certain breed of company. Plus, she had barely spoken with him since his father was arrested, whereas she had offered Draco a vast amount of support. He did not want to talk about that, though. Indeed, his choice of a topic surprised her.

“Do you think Hermione Granger would be my Astronomy partner?”

“Er… That depends, Theodore. What have you said when she’s been in earshot?”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t _said_ anything to her.”

“I mean if you used that awful language or spent enough time with Draco in her presence, she’s sure to find distaste in that…”

Theodore ignored Astoria’s insight.

“We’ve talked before, Hermione and I. We have met up in the library before, too. Like you just said, she’s very nice. She goes out of her way for people. However, I don’t know if she’d go out of her way to be my partner. I’ll bet her friends are in that class. She’s mostly friends with blokes, you know.”

“And…?”

“I mean blokes that are more popular than me.”

Astoria squinted, as if Theodore’s behaviour would become less confusing after a good, hard look at him. That didn’t happen. He stared blankly into the fire, hunched over and grabbing his elbows. Hermione was involved in the battle that landed his father in prison (she might have even fought him herself), and he had taken the less-than-respectable stance that he was “not taking sides” when it came to Muggle-born equality. What made him think this was a good idea?

“I don’t know how to ask her, Astoria. I’d really like to. I can’t talk to girls.”

“You’re merely asking her to be your Astronomy partner, Theodore. It’s not a big deal. But in any case, you thought talking to _me_ was ‘getting mixed up’ with a blood-traitor. What ever happened to how ‘dangerous’ she’d be to you, and how––”

“She’s going to have to leave the country soon anyway. She’s so smart –– that would have to be my answer to the Dark Lord about my involvement with her. In my Slytherin ‘ambition’ or whatever, I had opted to pair with a Muggle-born for my own advancement… I’d say something like that. But the truth is that Hermione’s one of the few people who talks to me. I know I’m not so easy to talk to. I almost want to do it just to make sure she knows I’m not…”

He paused.

“I’m not like my dad.”

 _Odd_ , Astoria thought. Did he expect he could get right back into Death Eaters’ favour when it became necessary? Astoria almost didn’t want him to take the risk, even though it supported her beliefs. He was too close to the wrong crowd. He was practically touching elbows.

“Well, the simple act of asking her should tell her that you aren’t like your dad. Ask her at breakfast tomorrow or the next time you get a chance.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re highly conversational. I’m procedural.”

“You know, Theodore, I don’t think Hermione minds ‘procedural’ at all,” Astoria smiled.

Theodore didn’t have anything else to say, so Astoria went to her dorm, glad that the door had opened for her with only a key. Rhiannon looked right at Astoria but obviously was tired of asking questions at that point.

“I gave Theodore a pep talk,” Astoria offered freely for Rhiannon, who only nodded.

Everyone was so quiet. They had the candles burning pessimistically low. The other three expected the next day to be trying and wanted to go to sleep soon. The room felt very stuffy, like a mausoleum nobody visited. Astoria propped the door open and decided to light a candle that was actually scented. Juniper berries beat hot wax any day.

By morning, Hestia perked up a little, conversing rather than complaining that Mondays were by far her busiest. The girls prepared for a long day with a hearty breakfast. Ignoring Draco’s unneeded opinions about a hippogriff being on the grounds, Astoria was daydreaming rumours she would never herself tell. Her eyes reached Theodore’s profile. He was handsome in a nerdy sort of way –– it was just that he had such a stringent routine. Theodore sat in the corner of most every room, and one could always find him at either the absolute front or back of a group of students depending on the route. Oh, yes, he was handsome, but there wasn’t much _adventure_ in Theodore. He was intelligent… no-nonsense. Perhaps he had more secrets in him, like an aching heart for a certain Gryffindor girl. Was Hermione Theodore’s ticket to the good side? Imagine that –– forbidden love.

Rhiannon didn’t have the same soft spot for melodrama and didn’t care to start chatting about it. Instead, she started talking about Transfiguration. The class was going to be terribly difficult, Astoria knew, but it wasn’t for another twenty minutes… Couldn’t it wait? Rhiannon heeded Astoria’s plea to change the subject, but her chat gradually transferred to Hestia. What would become of those two? Hestia had told Astoria that she loved Rhiannon. However, in a Wizarding community, the two girls faced the problem of Hestia’s Death Eater relatives. Go to the Muggles, and the two faced hatred for both being girls. If only they had their own little world.

Of course, Hestia sometimes came across as possessive. As Rhiannon’s best friend, Astoria would not have had Hestia as a first pick. There were plenty of other girls for Rhiannon out there who were more mature. Why not a strong-willed Gryffindor or a sweet Hufflepuff? If Rhiannon was choosing for Astoria, she wouldn’t have handed Astoria someone like moody Hestia, either!

Who would Rhiannon _have_ picked for Astoria (besides herself)? Astoria knew perfectly well who Rhiannon would _not_ pick… someone who was so busy talking that he hadn’t finished his breakfast. He was going to go hungry all morning. Of course, sixth years generally had fewer classes. Well, then, he would be just fine.

 _And what on earth would you_ _do if he wouldn_ ’ _t be fine?_ _Surprise him with snacks between classes? He’s not your boyfriend, you hopeless git_ , Astoria chastised herself.

Romance was one of those things that simply couldn’t survive in the Transfiguration classroom. Professor McGonagall gave a little speech about her high expectations for the O.W.L. Astoria had to score well on that because in the real world, Astronomy marks alone weren’t enough to get a job. All Astoria could think by the end of class was that at least it wasn’t a double period. Both Potions and Herbology were, though, so the day already felt long.

Professor Slughorn was a very different cup of tea from Professor Snape, and Astoria found the change unwelcoming. He had many extra candles lit and had moved the desks forward, leaving much less lecture room than Professor Snape had. The unoccupied desk at the front displayed three pre-brewed potions. _Pre-brewed_ examples at the O.W.L. level! Weren’t they supposed to be _learning_ here, not observing? Astoria thought they might as well have baked a chocolate cake rather than brewed a potion in there. If she wasn’t mistaken, she already smelt the chocolate!

“Oh my…” Hestia said in half a gasp, her nose high and searching. “He’s got Amortentia up there.”

“ _That_ ’ _s_ wise to have in a class full of teenagers,” Flora remarked.

“Soooo…. what does it smell like to you, Flora?” her sister asked.

“Smells like date rape waiting to happen,” Flora scoffed.

Rhiannon explained to a scandalised Astoria that Flora actually had a point about it being inappropriate to leave unattended. Amortentia was the most powerful love potion in existence, inducing a horrible obsession in the drinker for the one who gave it. The potion was deceptively kind to the senses, smelling pleasing and often evoking scents associated with the person one admired.

“To be honest,” Rhiannon whispered, “now that I’m next to it, it doesn’t smell like anything. Just how this room usually smells. Does that say something bad about my love life?”

Astoria made a silly face at Rhiannon, saying, “Don’t marry Slughorn.”

“What about you, Astoria?” Hestia questioned as Professor Slughorn moved protectively toward his potions and began class.

“I smell chocolate… and night air,” she responded, though she kept the third scent a secret.

It was a ridiculous twenty-eight Galleon cologne she had already had enough of for one morning. _Great_.

“These are N.E.W.T.-level potions,” Professor Slughorn advertised, but it would take more than the sweet smell of Amortentia to get most of the Gryffindors interested in continuing the class beyond fifth year.

Astoria felt a fresh blush arrive as she breathed in the steam again. Well, that was that then. She might be able to lie to her friends, but she couldn’t lie to herself anymore.

 _No_ , _no_ , _maybe I just like his cologne_ , she thought.

 _That isn_ ’ _t it_.

She had feelings for Draco Malfoy and was trying to calculate exactly how disappointed in herself she ought to be from a moral standpoint.

 _Moderately_ , she concluded. _Moderately disappointed_.

“What does Amortentia smell like to you, Hestia?” Astoria asked in the second half of class, trying to distract herself from the equally disturbing thoughts of Draco and the steamed fish scales in her hand.

“Pound shop strawberry shampoo,” Hestia quietly relished, and in Herbology later, she looked just as happy to smell the earthy greenhouse.

The summer’s heat had awakened every little scent and allergy that place had to offer.

 _This is my last year in this class_ , Astoria thought, hurrying to clip the Plasterleaves that were dutifully crawling up her sleeve. She had to peel the leaves off with warm water once they adhered to her arm, and Professor Sprout rolled her eyes. That evening, after Arithmancy, Astoria and Flora took their seats at dinner based on the position of a delicious-looking soup. Soupless Theodore made quite the journey from the other end of the table to catch Astoria.

“I’m going to ask her now,” he declared.

“Ask… Ask what of whom?” Astoria uttered forgetfully, spoon eagerly in her hand.

“ _Hermione_ ,” Theodore emphasised.

“On a date?” teased Flora.

Theodore looked at his feet, then back up to glare at Flora through his heavy fringe. Astoria discovered that the soup was just as scrumptious as it looked, but knew Theodore expected her to follow up.

“I thought you were going to ask her at breakfast, Theodore,” she said.

“Er, I couldn’t. I’m doing it now.”

It went about as well as Astoria expected, since Hermione had already agreed to be Neville Longbottom’s partner. By no means was she rude when she told Theodore that, but he was sour about it nonetheless.

The next morning, Astoria found some familiar comfort in the D.A.D.A. classroom. Although it was a few floors up from the dungeons, Professor Snape had put forth his best effort to bring the dungeons upstairs. With only a peek into his office before class began, Astoria saw exactly how many of his own potions ingredients the professor still considered relevant to the Dark arts.

“Miss Greengrass, take your seat,” Professor Snape called out of the office without even seeing her.

Astoria scurried to a desk –– a safe one in the middle this year –– and motioned to her friends to join her. Rhiannon wasn’t paying the slightest attention; she was fixated with a picture on the wall. Professor Snape entered silently but commandingly. He and an absentminded Rhiannon met eyes by chance, and she slid into an empty chair behind Astoria.

“If any of you expect to achieve the O.W.L. for this subject, you must devote the time for studying every day,” Professor Snape averred. “I am not even going to estimate your present knowledge of this subject, since you have had so many teachers come and go…”

It was incredible how he managed to make it sound like it had been the students’ fault.

“As Slytherin students, you must be aware of the expectations I had for you in Potions. You must also be aware that _any failure_ in this room…!” he shouted, spreading out his arms so quickly that Curtis Evercreech jolted as if to dodge a spell. “Any failure in this room, Mr Evercreech, will not only disappoint your Head of House, but will also earn you a grisly demise against Dark wizards.”

 _Unless your family album is full of them_ , Astoria thought. But she knew she was wrong. Flora and Hestia had so much extra stress in their lives because their aunt and uncle were Death Eaters. Theodore was always on edge, and even Draco was uncomfortable when he thought about his aunt on the loose. The Slytherins weren’t automatically protected if they were related to Death Eaters. With such a huge potential for making “wrong moves,” being closer to them could prove deadlier.

“I believe it’s raining,” Professor Snape said, his beady eyes squinting as though he could see through the heavy window dressings.

At once, he swept his wand across the room, opening both the curtains and the windows and sending Curtis Evercreech behind his textbook.

“Oh, I get it,” Flora muttered as mist began to creep into the room. “The mist wouldn’t rise so fast if it weren’t for the rain, but there’s no way it would climb this high anyway if it didn’t _want_ to.”

“Teensy dementor babies,” Hestia concluded, giving Professor Snape a different grimace from the one he had been wearing.

Most of the students tried to pick up their feet discreetly, but the simultaneous nature of the action was more than enough to catch Professor Snape’s attention.

“Everyone, stand,” he exhaled.

Astoria’s toes curled. She felt nervous, of course, but this awful, unifying mist must have made her feel all of the other students’ dread as well. Perhaps if she had been alone with the mist it wouldn’t have been as bad, but she could see the others’ faces, read their posture, and feel their shivers in the ripples of the mist. Everyone seemed afflicted except Flora. Her expression wouldn’t change whether she was stepping in dementors or sifting her toes through the sun-baked sand on a beach.

“Draw your wands. You will now cast the Patronus Charm,” Professor Snape sad unhelpfully.

It wasn’t anything like Professor Lupin’s step-by-step instructions. Was it that much trouble to tell the students to think of their happiest memory? Or did he prefer another method?

 _My happiest memory_ … _What was the one I had used back at home_?

Astoria’s eyelids felt heavy. It wasn’t helping that no one else had even attempted to cast the charm yet.

 _Well it obviously wasn_ ’ _t that happy if I couldn_ ’ _t cast a real Patronus then_ …

What a terrible thought! A few incantations echoed somewhere far off –– none successful. With the stifling mist in her air, Astoria was so occupied thinking through memories and judging them as “not good enough” that she didn’t even join the chant. She moved her eyes toward Flora, whose wand was drawn and whose other hand rested protectively on her sister. But like Astoria, she never spoke a word.

One of the incantations sounded less hypothermic than the others. Silvery wisps of a Patronus replaced the deathlike blue of the mist, and Astoria reminisced of sitting by her grand fireplace after playing in the snow. She was even happier once she inferred that the Patronus was Rhiannon’s. A wolf larger than most fifth-years skulked round the classroom, cornering the mist. With a strong bite, the Patronus cleared the mist entirely and then disappeared itself. The students shuffled in place, relieved, but aware that they had no more mist to work with.

“Twenty points to Slytherin,” Professor Snape crowed. “From those of you who tried and failed to cast a Patronus I expect a twelve-inch essay on the charm. From those of you who did not even try…”

Nothing got past his black eyes. They knowingly hovered over Astoria, Flora, and a handful of others.

“…I expect a twenty-inch essay on dementors.”

It wasn’t that they didn’t try as he accused. (Well, maybe Diane Carter didn’t try; she was already trying to wipe her designer shoes). But the effects of the mist were so overwhelming that none of them could gather initiative.

“I suppose you think that you’re in the clear, Miss Clarke,” the professor said over the quiet grumblings of his students.

“Nah, I been here five years,” Rhiannon said, cracking her neck confidently. “What do I do?”

Professor Snape Summoned a workbook from the back of the room and let it fall on her desk.

“If you want to continue beyond your O.W.L.s, you will need to produce N.E.W.T.-level writing. Complete this workbook by the end of this class.”

 _And do your teachers all a favour_ , Astoria could have sworn he added with a look in his eye. Rhiannon might have had the worst assignment of all, not because it was a workbook, but because it had more to do with English composition than D.A.D.A. Astoria understood where the professor was coming from, since it took longer for Astoria to proofread Rhiannon’s essays than it took her to write them. However, it wasn’t appropriate for the class, especially since Rhiannon had clearly outperformed everyone. Rhiannon, usually discouraged by assignments, wasn’t thinking that way at all. In fact, she considered it Professor Snape’s own vote of confidence that she would advance to several N.E.W.T.-level courses. She started scribbling in the book that very evening after her Astronomy class.

“‘Warlocks once believed that the head was the temple of magic; improper headwear, such as tight caps or wigs, could supposedly hinder the natural flow of magical energy. In an attempt to capitalise upon the energy, designers in the 1800s developed the tall, conical hat that remains popular today,’” Rhiannon quoted from her writing later. “I’m starting to sound just like you when you look out a window too long, Astoria!”

“How is that?”

“You start talking about life and get all wordy-like.”

Astoria might have been looking out of the common room window for too long whilst her D.A.D.A. essay remained small, but she wasn’t feeling very chatty. She should have already packed and started walking to Astronomy class but found herself stalling, wondering where Draco and Theodore were. Had they left already? Students usually walked up to Astronomy Tower together, but maybe since it was a N.E.W.T. class…

“Scared to walk up there alone? I’d be more scared to walk up there with those two clowns.” Rhiannon said.

“That’s why she has me,” Tracey Davis chirped, stopping by their desk.

Tracey had a spiffy new telescope peeking out of her bag and her ever-charming smile on her face. Astoria was thankful she didn’t make any effort to talk about Pariah’s flop of an album. Rhiannon wished the girls luck, coincidentally just as Draco and Theodore emerged from their dormitory hall. It was then that she added, “You’ll need it.”

The four hadn’t even made it to the main floor before Tracey commented, “Okay, you lot are dreadfully quiet. How was everyone’s summer? Any terrible classes yet?”

“Summer was terrible, but my classes aren’t,” Theodore said.

“Oh, well that’s good. We just returned from holiday in Portugal,” Tracey said. “Montel got stung by a jellyfish, of course. I had a great time. And there wasn’t any of this mist!”

“Would you mind being my partner for Astronomy? I don’t know who is in this class,” Theodore asked suddenly, not following the conversation.

Tracey kindly agreed, but Astoria noticed that it produced about one-tenth of the thrill he would have had if Hermione had been available.

When they reached the Astronomy classroom, Astoria nearly collided with Winky the house-elf, who was clumsily carrying a basketful of translucent potions downstairs. Astoria certainly hoped that Winky wouldn’t be in charge of moving their equipment for class. However, it didn’t look like there would be that much equipment; only three other students were in the classroom. Astoria felt personally slighted. Astronomy was an extremely important subject that so few appreciated. About one-hundred forty students took the O.W.L.! Astoria’s nosiness overcame her and she trotted over to Professor Sinistra’s desk.

“Someone’s excited,” the professor chuckled.

“I wouldn’t have made it if I wasn’t. How many students are in this class, Professor?”

“Ten.”

“That’s all? How many students qualified?”

Professor Sinistra grew a serious expression and said, “I’m not supposed to disclose that information to students, Astoria.”

“Oh –– pardon me.”

“But sixty-one students qualified,” the professor revealed, twirling her quill and grinning.

“…Oh! Er, that’s not bad.”

“No, it’s not, but only so many people have genuine interest,” Professor Sinistra sighed, looking over Astoria’s shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “So, how did you do with the Patronus Charm today?”

“Er, not well, Professor…”

“Do not forget that you can still use the Astronomy Library at any time,” she said, motioning for Astoria to take a seat.

The other students had already sat with their partners. Gryffindors Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom sat innocently in front of Tracey and a disenchanted Theodore. One of Daphne’s ex-boyfriends, Anthony Goldstein, sat next to one of Asenath Greengrass’s girlfriends, Swati Pevekar. The only other Ravenclaw was Astoria’s cousin, Adamina Kippling, who had paired up with Hufflepuff Hannah Abbott.

“I thought Hufflepuffs always came in a cete,” Draco joked, perusing the room as Astoria took the seat beside him. “Do you have another quill I might borrow?”

Astoria began to search her bag but soon found a large white feather under her nose.

“Looks like I have one after all.”

Astoria shooed the feather away, itching her nose embarrassedly. Exactly how much time she could buy before Draco figured out about this stupid crush was anybody’s guess. It wasn’t the kind of feeling she had had with Philippe Boisvert. She hadn’t thought about Draco throughout the day. She didn’t triple-check how she looked that evening. She wasn’t even that nervous. All of these things actually bothered her, like she wasn’t following a “typical” pattern. It was more like a snowball effect, and she didn’t want to admit that she had not completely moved on from the time they had spent together at the Christmas banquet.

It was also their evening together after his father had been arrested. It stemmed from very fleeting and stupid things that would have been outright flirting for other people. Yet Astoria’s snowball was still rolling. If it wasn’t for Pansy Parkinson, it would have felt completely normal, timely, and right for her to wrap one arm around him and use the other to put her quill feather in his ear. It would cause a stink with everyone she knew, really. But Draco wouldn’t care. Astoria smiled to herself because she believed she could do it _right now_ and Draco wouldn’t even care…

Professor Sinistra had just finished a little speech about the war and how they might find themselves using the humdrum things they learnt in school to protect the ones they loved. The speech was solemn, but Astoria felt a snicker coming on as she imagined her faulty translation from Ancient Runes turning out to be some age-old curse she could use to wipe out You-Know-Who. Astoria was going to share the thought with Draco, but they were still in the professor’s earshot. He must have misread Astoria’s look because he turned bright red. He evidently couldn’t handle it if she looked over at him when the words “the ones you love” were getting tossed about. It was accidental…

“Well then,” Professor Sinistra said airily. “Since there are so few of you, I would like to make this class just as important for you as it is for me. Let’s go round the room and talk about why you took this class, and hopefully I can add what you want to the lessons and group work… Ah, Miss Granger?”

“I know that Astronomy is a core class for a reason, Professor. It is more central to magic than many of us take the time to understand. I would like to apply the information in this class to anything I can, particularly charms.”

Hermione’s partner Neville gave a rather interesting explanation: “Er, I like Herbology, but I’ve noticed that some plants are very picky about when they will grow or bloom. Or die. You know, the stuff they put in Pepperup Potion only dies under a seeing of 0.4 arcseconds or better. It’s basically invincible in cities.”

Theodore made a rather elaborate attempt to outdo Neville by saying basically the same point of interest, yet stressing that he wanted to use it for potion-making and not plant-growing. Anthony Goldstein shared that he loved how easy it was to Transfigure things into whatever constellations were visible in one’s hemisphere. Both Swati Pevekar and Adamina were in it to get an edge on charms like Hermione. Hannah Abbott had little to say, and Astoria guessed that it had been one of the few O.W.L.s during which the girl hadn’t totally panicked. When it was Draco’s turn, he shrugged.

“Ah, I see Mr Malfoy only took it because he would miss me terribly otherwise,” Professor Sinistra said, happy to single him out for not cooperating.

“I want to be an astronomer,” Astoria said, relieved to finally get the words in the room when it was her turn.

She was the only one, and she had to make it known. She hadn’t tested two years ahead for no reason in this class.

“I want to open up my own planetarium. Astronomy fascinates me. I could stargaze all day if the sun didn’t rise. Still, the sun is one of the most powerful astronomical forces in magic. It even affects the Muggle world significantly. Our very existence depends on what events take place out there, but for me it’s a personal hobby.”

“‘ _Our very existence_ ,’” Draco imitated.

Halfway through the lecture, he drew a picture of the world exploding due to an asteroid collision. Astoria whispered, “Unlikely.”

Draco responded by labelling the asteroid “Toutatis,” a near-earth object, and nodding his head sagely.


	12. Knell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my [playlist is located here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy)
> 
> Chapter 12 - "Crash and Burn" by Angus and Julia Stone

A grisaille is an entirely grey painting. It may serve as a foundation to which layers of colour will be added, but before the Colour-Changing Charm was developed, grisailles were produced because they were cheap. The lively subjects in Wizarding grisailles often made known their dissatisfaction with the lack of colour, and the paintings quickly fell out of style.

Maybe it was the mist talking, but nearly each new aspect of Draco’s life seemed like it was painted in grey. Quidditch trials were fast approaching, but Draco knew the manoeuvres and had the clout. There wasn’t a wealth of talent involved beyond that for the Slytherin team. Draco tried not to think of himself as the Dark Lord’s free labour, but the first weekend at school was a convenient marker of time passed, and he had only pitiable plans for killing Dumbledore. An Imperius Curse here. A stolen Polyjuice potion there. Nothing was quite adding up in his head yet. Draco could hardly even look at Pansy without being reminded of his mission. And seeing Dumbledore in person made it extremely hard. Any ineptitude on his part would disappoint her even faster than the Dark Lord. He should have never let her known he had become a Death Eater, because “ordinary Draco” was drab and grey to her in comparison.

Then there would be another splash of paint on Draco’s grey canvas, like it was spilt and didn’t belong there. It was a very valuable paint –– a bright red paint that threatened to ruin the whole grisaille and start something colourful, but costly.

“Urquhart’s no good. You ought to try out for captain. The game’s all up to the Seeker anyway, really,” Astoria said a little nervously.

“Call me lazy, I suppose. You did turn that lamp into a cobra, right?” Draco asked.

“Yes! You didn’t see that?”

“Not like I’m busy or anything…”

Draco was doing his best to make a diagram of the difference between the moon’s ideal orbit and its true orbit. The goal, Astoria said, was to see how much one object can displace the ideal orbit of a planetary body. Professor Sinistra wanted the students to dabble in “orbital perturbation analysis” in order to understand how gravitational force can affect long-term spells. It was really heavy stuff. Astoria explained that a long-term Shield might shift slightly each day it is in effect. A curse may become stronger as it remains contained in an object, its energy unable to move naturally in the container.

Astoria inched closer and glanced at Draco’s diagram. With an expensive pencil that was meant for art, she drew an orbit even more perturbed than the one Draco had calculated.

“Things don’t go as planned,” she said to herself.

“That’s… Thanks, but how do I show my work when I put that orbit in?”

“You recalculate,” Astoria said.

“I don’t have the time,” he argued.

“You find a book in the library by someone who’s already calculated it,” she shrewdly disclosed.

On the grey day of Quidditch trials, more than half the house wrapped their scarves over their noses and made their way to the pitch. Draco was surprised to see Rhiannon Clarke trying out for Keeper… or anything else for that matter. He had nearly forgot about her, but his mental framework for her came back quickly. Slytherin’s Blot, Astoria’s best friend, and definitely the only girl in her year who would make a double-entendre about the goal hoops she was guarding. Draco would never admit it in his life, but she was the best candidate for Keeper he saw that day. It was a lost cause for her, though. A Muggle-born might have slipped into Slytherin, but she was still not going to be on their team. He knew Urquhart, the captain, would rather lose with old faces than win with a Mudblood.

~

If it rained too much in one day, the humidity had no trouble getting into the castle and turning Theodore’s mop top into a feather duster. He kept messing with it and clearing his throat whilst he read the _Evening Prophet_ at dinner. Draco had had enough after the second Theodore hair he found in his roast beef and moved.

“What are friends for, right?” Pansy said.

Well, to start, Astoria’s friends thought they were bodyguards, since they all spread out to put as much space between Draco and Astoria as possible when he moved toward them. Astoria’s practising Transfiguration and Astronomy with him received no more approval from them than it had from Pansy. Pansy had tried to disguise her jealousy by saying, “You have more _important_ things to do than Astronomy, remember?” She didn’t know it, but that remark had only alienated him further.

How could he kill Dumbledore when the old coot wasn’t even there? Dumbledore only sat at the staff table occasionally, and checking his office would eventually become suspicious. With this assassination assignment in his mind, Draco couldn’t say that Astoria’s friends were _wrong_ to try to distract her from him, but he didn’t have to like it.

And there she went. Astoria suddenly remembered she wanted to go to one of Slughorn’s dinners (he had promised her honeycombs), and strode off with friends and acquaintances alike. Astoria didn’t really have enemies like Draco did. The people who sought to fight with her could rarely overcome her poise and her annoying self-righteousness. She was laughing at something Ginny Weasley had said. Just like that, Astoria could weave into a conversation and sacrifice her pretty step to walk in time with some tatty nobodies. Sometimes Draco wished Pansy would distract him from Astoria. However, every time she tried to, it came across as desperate, jealous, or fake. If only he could give her instructions on how to be endearing again without defeating the point.

“Ugh, looks like the Ministry raided your house again,” Theodore sighed into the newspaper, rippling its pages. “Sent Weasley on the job –– didn’t find anything, obviously.”

“Weasley! What an idiot!” Pansy interjected. “Blood-traitorous trespassing, that’s what it is! The Ministry thinks it can do anything these days. They’ll _learn_ soon enough, won’t they, Draco?”

See? She overdid it. Pansy was always overdoing it to get approval. It worked three years ago when Draco couldn’t tell the difference between having his ego stroked and someone genuinely supporting him. Both were great if they were done correctly, but Pansy couldn’t read him anymore. They hadn’t even been going steady for long, so what happened? Draco might have been isolating from her for no good reason, because he knew that isolation was not what he wanted deep down. Some isolation was necessary, though. He had to rid himself of both the cursed necklace he had bought and Albus Dumbledore as fast as possible. He would probably have to use the Imperius Curse on someone to get the stupid thing to Dumbledore. How inconvenient.

Halfway through September, Draco still had no luck. He was going to most of his classes as if his life was normal. Professor Sinistra seemed back to her normal sad self, too, as far as Draco could tell. She had Winky delivering her a black coffee and a marbled look in her eyes.

“You will notice that we are missing a student,” she croaked. “Hannah’s mother has been murdered by Death Eaters.”

Sad noises came from the students. Astoria had her hand over her mouth.

“You’ll forgive my postponing the lecture. I’d like to tell you what the papers don’t. Some of you may know of a list of pure-blood families that was published approximately when You-Know-Who was entering Hogwarts. The list was called the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and its goal was to advertise which families were still ‘pure’ by the standards of supremacists. Half of this class had last names on that list, and Hannah was one of them.”

Draco scribbled on his parchment. He could only think of his mother having dinner every night with a sister who would give her up to the Dark Lord if Draco failed his mission.

“You-Know-Who’s list gets smaller every year, firstly because of natural selection, and secondly because of the idea of blood-traitors. My point is, a fancy name isn’t going to save you from these people. Every family needs a contingency plan. You can’t be content because the Minister says it’s under control. Believe me, it never is.”

Did this really need said? At least the students in this class should have known all about mortal peril by this point. Maybe Sinistra was trying to tell the Sacred Twenty-Eight students to stop being blood-traitors, but at the same time, she was hinting at the rest of them to escape. Draco still couldn’t tell where Sinistra’s loyalties were, but he knew she wasn’t going to help him.

“Miss Kippling, go on and make a trio, and we’ll start class.”

Astoria invited her cousin to join them with a polite wave, clearly expecting much of Draco.

“You kidding me, Astoria?” Adamina scoffed, bobbing her head at him.

No other words were exchanged. Adamina sat with the other Ravenclaws, and Astoria straightened her back, mumbling something about “raised better” and “her loss.” Clearly, Adamina was thinking something similar about Astoria. As Draco was wondering if he was singlehandedly tearing Astoria’s family apart, Sinistra gave each group a worksheet. They were supposed to find which wand motions for spells originated from asterisms. The easiest to figure out were the charms involving water, since they often involved stars from Aquarius. The motion for casting a fur-growing spell had come from Leo’s mane.

Astoria loved the assignment and started jabbering:–

“I assume using patterns like these make spell creation easier. It would be easy to remember a pattern to put your magic in the context of your goal. I should try this if I ever start making spells like my father does. You might even be able to draw power from the stars…”

“I think you’re giving the stars a lot of credit,” Draco responded. “They aren’t helping us finish this worksheet, are they?”

“Come off it, Draco. There’s only one left.”

“Yeah, the Gripping Charm. I was thinking Cancer’s claws, but that doesn’t work.”

Astoria studied her map only briefly, mumbling of how the spell must be old.

“Scorpius used to have bigger claws. That’s why we aren’t seeing it. The claw section of Scorpius is just Libra now, see?”

Her finger traced the previous form of the arachnid constellation, like she was fondly remembering something from a very old book. They were the only ones to turn in the worksheet with the trick question solved. For all of the trials going on in his life, it was incredible how Draco’s heartbeat could still warm his body instead of induce panic. Maybe it was something in between. Astoria wasn’t walking very fast, and soon they lost the rest of the class in the descent from the tower. Draco could usually handle situations like this by making her flustered first. That way, he had the upper hand. But he had no words in mind that night. Astoria’s yawns were contagious. Her eyelashes fluttered sleepily. Maybe they could just kip on the stairs.

“Oh, wait.”

It was the only thing she’d said in twenty minutes. She walked into a hallway on the fifth floor, either ignorant of or unconcerned about the Aurors that prowled about the castle. She didn’t ask but instead guessed that Draco would follow her against his better judgment.

“I’ve been working on a song for the next album.”

“I never heard the last one.”

“You wouldn’t like _Fylth_. It’s a protest album. However, I wanted your thoughts on _this_ because I haven’t shared it with the band yet,” Astoria chattered.

“Huh. I feel special,” Draco said much less sarcastically than he wanted.

The door to the music room was locked, and surprisingly, Astoria took a hair grip out and started picking the lock.

“Er, why don’t you just…?”

“Trust me, this is faster,” Astoria admitted as the lock gave. “My wand doesn’t take kindly to my lack of sleep. One day, though.”

It was a good thing Draco’s wand wasn’t that picky about sleep, or he’d never cast anything.

“Did Clarke teach you that little trick?”

“Mm, Rhiannon doesn’t use hair grips for anything else,” Astoria smiled.

She asked Draco to put an Imperturbable Charm on the room so Filch wouldn’t hear.

“Now, be honest, and let me know if you like it or not,” she said, sitting at the piano.

She placed her messy manuscript parchment in front of her, and music engulfed the room. It was the perfect soundtrack to how wonderfully bad their situation must have looked through a window. A Greengrass played music for a Malfoy at the stroke of midnight in a room with no sound coming out of it. The music was stormy enough for her hair to slide over her shoulders as she played. Draco had to look at a wall, away from the siren.

“That’s all I have thus far. Do you like it?”

“Yes. Er, will your label like it? They want you to have a consistent sound, right?”

“Once Rhiannon gets her hands on it, it will definitely become a rock song. Still, it doesn’t matter what In.fine.it. thinks since they’re likely to drop us anyway.”

“Were you seeking my advice? Because I don’t have any.”

“I didn’t mean to waste your time.”

What he said must have come out wrong.

“Well, it’s good as it is. What can I say?” Draco attempted. “You know what you’re doing.”

 _He_ sure didn’t. Astoria was really supposed to be a fourth-year. He was really supposed to be a Death Eater. Nothing about them mixed well, but the old, woodsy smell of her house had been so inviting in Slughorn’s stupid potion that Draco couldn’t keep away from her. It was the kind of smell that might never come out of the suit he had worn to her house last Christmas, and it was always on her clothes at the beginning of the school year. The alleged power of the potion had nothing on Astoria’s unforeseen magnetism. But Draco couldn’t have her.

“We have to make it past the Aurors now,” he reminded her.

“True. We could do it your way and hide in corridors to avoid them at all costs. If we’re caught, it won’t end well,” she considered.

Draco coughed, trying to capture his voice, and said:–

“We could do it your way by going down the Grand Staircase. We’ll probably be caught, but you think you can slither your way out of anything.”

“Then let’s do it my way,” Astoria said.

Draco silenced their footsteps with his wand and they didn’t talk the whole time. It made everything worse because she would merely smile at him for communication, like when a step disappeared and she hopped over it or when the paintings looked at them disapprovingly. Somehow, the two made it all the way to the common room with no problems. He wished he had that kind of luck when he was looking for ways to get Dumbledore. In that moment, though, he probably couldn’t even pronounce the word Dumbledore correctly. He and Astoria were the only ones in the common room. She pointed out the small luminescent fish that drifted past the window, and their light briefly made her eyes glow. Draco wanted to kiss her –– how awful.

He felt like Draco with Pansy, but she wanted him to be a good Death Eater. He felt like a menacing Death Eater with Astoria, who wanted him to only be Draco. None of it reconciled, and he and Astoria bid each other goodnight plainly.

~

By October, Draco had ended up in detention with McGonagall, who believed that his neglect of homework meant that he could not handle the class. She didn’t know that Astoria’s improved marks were thanks to him and probably congratulated herself thoroughly for how good a teacher she thought she was. McGonagall locked him up during the first Hogsmeade trip, which wasn’t a problem apart from how tedious the work was. Draco had already played the cursed necklace piece in the chess game against Dumbledore. He merely had to wait.

Waiting was actually nerve-racking. Draco had been instructed to summarise fifty pages of his textbook; at first, he had tried to pace himself so he wouldn’t finish too early. Now it felt like he’d never get it done. The weather was a monster that day, alternating between heavy rain and sleet but never calming. It felt like lightning bolted each time Draco paused, clarifying the lines on McGonagall’s face. The wind wailed in his distractible ears, and his mind wandered to Astoria. Bad habit. She was stuck in the Wizarding Wireless Network building, recording rushed demos. Draco knew next to nothing about electricity and started wondering if there were enough traces of it in Rhiannon’s Muggle guitar to attract the lightning. Did it work that way…? Was Astoria in danger being near the contraption?

His quill shivered, trying to let him know he had misspelled a word. It wasn’t worth it to correct it. How long would it be until someone found Dumbledore dead? If everything went smoothly, no one except the Dark Lord and his contacts would know Draco was the culprit. He’d still probably have detention, though. McGonagall would waste no time in taking over the school.

The rain outside froze again as Draco’s detention ended. He found Crabbe and Goyle, who looked at him expectantly, but he had no news. Draco wished he had given Pansy less money to shop for replacements for her “out of style” hats. She could have been back already to let him know what went on with the necklace. But he only had to wait another ten minutes. She came scurrying into the common room with no good news.

“Katie Bell touched the necklace and it made a big scene,” she whispered, adjusting a new hat.

“Wait –– you mean…?” Draco garbled.

“It didn’t make it to Dumbledore at all.”

“Damn it,” Draco said, drumming his fingers.

Did Bell die? Where was the necklace? How many witnesses were there? What were the implications? Draco was coming up with questions faster than Pansy could reply.

“She flew up in the air and just started screaming her arse off,” Pansy laughed. “She’s in the Hospital Wing, but they’ll have to send her to Mungo’s. Probably don’t want to listen to her here!”

It was a miracle that Bell hadn’t died, but regrettably, neither had Dumbledore.

“Guess it wouldn’t have worked on the old man anyway,” Goyle said. “So what’s next?”

Draco was thinking of poisons he could brew, but he realised he had to put his ugly backup plan into motion. He knew of a secret room that had something that could bring him _real_ support.

“You two are going to help me,” he said gravely to Crabbe and Goyle. “I have to go to the hidden room in the castle.”


	13. Legilimency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my [playlist is located here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy)
> 
> Chapter 13 - "Minuit Chrétien" performed by Emilie Charette

“You telling me you’re not coming to the match?”

Astoria averted Rhiannon’s black treacle eyes and tried to look busy with Arithmancy homework.

“I know what it is,” Flora chirruped. “Harper is filling in for Draco today and––”

“Rubbish, Flora,” Rhiannon dismissed but still tried to stare through Astoria.

“You’d have finished that assignment already if––” Flora retried.

“If I hadn’t been trying so hard to write music,” Astoria finished.

“C’mon, Flora, leave her alone. We need to get choice seats,” said Rhiannon.

Their demo day in the WWN had proved to be disastrous. Their manager, Leonard Mongaby, had news from “above” that since the girls weren’t able to tour over the summer and had poor reviews on _Fylth_ , they needed to release more EPs rather than albums. It would be cheaper for everyone. Plans for the full album were scrapped before their eyes, and their ten demos were cut down to four by Mr Davis, their producer. Astoria was past the point of caring much; her time spent on songs felt wasted and she didn’t feel like she could ever write another one.

In contrast to her musical career, Astoria might have –– just _might_ have –– become too comfortable in Astronomy. She felt like she had had enough information in her head for five people instead of one, but the practical portions of the class had yet to start. The second Tuesday in November was when she finally made a mistake in Professor Sinistra’s class, choosing to read an arithmancy book about Fibonacci numbers instead of take notes. Only two minutes into class, Professor Sinistra Summoned Astoria’s book to the front of the room.

“Ten points from Slytherin, and hopefully, your ego, Miss Greengrass.”

“I––”

“You like complicated reads? Have a go at this one,” Professor Sinistra said moodily, pointing her wand at her desk.

An unwieldy volume soon thudded atop Astoria’s materials, creasing her maps. The Ravenclaw table sniggered.

“You’ll be tested on it in detention next Wednesday at 4 o’clock.”

“Professor, I’m very––” Astoria pleaded.

“Very free at that hour, I’m aware,” Professor Sinistra retorted and continued lecturing.

Astoria and Draco shared a look of surprise. That was overkill. Astoria’s nose reached over the book, but there was no title. Very discreetly, Astoria slid a finger under the black cover to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. How was she to read a book that wouldn’t even open? It wasn’t like she was going to ask the professor what spell it required after all that.

“Here –– give me the book,” Draco said on their way back from class.

Something possessed him to still try to open the book physically at first, but he soon drew his wand and cast a slew of charms on it to no effect.

“You were studying Arithmancy when she blew her top, right? Maybe there’s some kind of numeric code to open it.”

Astoria tried the most obvious thing first: 6-7-5-5 for “OPEN,” but it did nothing. She tried the sum of those numbers, and their simplification. She tried the word for “READ.” She even tried drawing a Fibonacci series. Nothing. On a different note, she remembered that Draco had helped her with wand-writing the previous year. Providing that she had still opted to keep her wand, she would have been far behind in both Arithmancy and Charms without him. She almost felt like thanking him again, just because. Could she do it without being awkward?

At once, the book turned pink and said “AWWW!”

“What on earth…?” Astoria gasped, holding the book away from her.

The book gasped, too, not changing colour.

“That’s odd,” said Draco, taking the book.

It turned black again, making no noise or motion.

“Theodore!” Draco called to the front of the procession.

Theodore halted and waited for the two to catch up.

“Have a look at this,” Draco said, handing him the book.

Theodore tried to open it ineffectually. Then, the book tilted sideways slightly in his hand, saying “Hmm?”

Theodore handed it back to Astoria, keeping a close eye on it.

“Well, you’re never going to figure out how to open it if you two keep taking breaks to go snog on the way back from class,” he immediately accused.

“Sorry, _what_ …?”

The book turned scarlet and started to squeal.

“Quick –– pass me the book!” Theodore demanded.

Astoria all but threw it at him. When he caught it, it turned a mischievous green and started howling with laughter.

“What we have here,” Theodore said through a laugh of his own, “is a Legilimency book.”

“Legilimency. Really?” Draco questioned.

“I thought –– Isn’t that a Dark art?” stammered Astoria.

“It is if you make it one,” Theodore replied. “Sorry about the snogging joke, but I wanted to see if the book would be as embarrassed as you!”

The book laughed anew, broadcasting that Theodore wasn’t sorry at all.

“Shut this thing up, Draco,” Theodore said. “I’m not in the mood to.”

Once the book touched Draco’s fingers, it went quiet again.

“Draco has no feelings, you see,” Theodore said.

“You may go now,” Draco hissed faintly.

“Oh, you’re welcome,” Theodore said, hopping to the front of the line again.

“He didn’t help us open this at all,” Draco said, not looking at Astoria.

He was embarrassed. But why wasn’t the book reacting to Draco? Was he unwell? Was he blocking his emotions? Astoria decided not to comment on it and act like Theodore had never said anything.

“It’s a Legilimency book,” she said, “so what is the spell for Legilimency?”

“ _Legilimens_. Just point your wand,” Draco said. “It’s hard to cast, though. I don’t know why she’d give you a book like this.”

He was getting more nervous, even if the book wasn’t showing it. Astoria slid her schoolbag off her shoulder and into his hands, then took the book from him. He didn’t object to any of it except the “Stand back” she said when she was about to cast the spell.

“Your wand’s mad, Astoria. What if you Confund yourself?”

“Then I am Professor Sinistra’s liability,” Astoria brushed off.

She had quite the grudge against the book for squealing at the mention of –– ugh.

“ _Legilimens_!”

In one hand, Astoria could tell that the heavy book definitely did not open. Her other hand steadied her on the wall of the tower. She was trying to look at the book, but it didn’t seem the same. The _idea_ of chapters upon chapters fluttered through her head like they were waiting to be grabbed, but there were no words. It was hard to concentrate on one chapter. Could she run back and beg Professor Sinistra for a normal old book?

Astoria tried desperately for chapter one rather than the preface, but the two must have merged somewhere in her mind, and she ended up being profoundly bored.

“Look at you,” Draco commended once Astoria let the book be.

She wondered how long she had been out of it. The book started to turn pink again. Draco returned her schoolbag to her, but there wasn’t enough room for the dreadful book to be put away. Draco smiled about the vibrant blush growing on its cover.

“I think you ought to be the one who carries this,” Astoria said resolutely.

He didn’t take the book; he only put his hand on it. The book couldn’t reach his mysteries, and its colour faded where he touched it.

“For the record, it’s only doing this because––” Draco started.

“You’re an Occlumens,” Astoria finished. “I read –– er –– learnt about that from the book.”

His eyes told her nothing like the book said that most eyes would. All they revealed was that he was an expert Occlumens, and that nothing was leaving his psyche unless he let it.

“On another note, I won’t be able to help you with Transfiguration anymore. D.A.D.A. is becoming a nuisance. I can manage Astronomy now, though,” he said.

The book started to turn a disenchanted blue, but Draco smiled rather proudly at her when he saw it.

“Oh, just take the stupid book, Draco!”

Instead, he let go entirely and sped down the staircase so that she knew not to follow. A single syllable of laughter rolled back up to meet her. Astoria started to glare at the Legilimency book that had been her undoing, but the place where Draco’s hand had touched was dark red, not black. Astoria stared blankly for a moment, and then understood that dark red was one of those colours that good friends ought to talk to each other about. Yet Astoria couldn’t mention it to her good friends at all.

Rhiannon was busy studying D.A.D.A. when Astoria came into the dorm.

“Er, what is it with professors giving us books in other subjects?” Astoria whispered.

She felt like she had a thousand words on her tongue, but if Flora woke up, sleep would not bless that dorm for the rest of the night.

“Professor Snape gave you English composition, and Professor Sinistra gave me Legilimency,” Astoria said. “On top of that, they still both think I should be able to produce a Patronus by now.”

Rhiannon shrugged and said, “They’re in cahoots.”

She poked her shard of Foe-Glass, which had found a new home on a plate stand.

“‘Cahoots?’ You don’t mean they’re in the Foe-Glass…?”

“Eh? No, no. But you know, I could’ve sworn I seen Draco a few times in there.”

Rhiannon paused, then emitted a nervous laugh which threatened to wake Flora.

“I reckon he likes it in there,” Rhiannon said, poking the glass again.

Twinkles delivered two short letters to Astoria the next morning. One had been composed on her father’s stationery, and the other had been scribbled onto coffee-stained parchment. Having been receiving more letters from her parents than she could count, Astoria opened the unfamiliar letter first.

_Astoria_ ,

 _I actually thought the textbook would interest you_. _No detention_. _Best_ “ _read_ ” _it in private so no one thinks I’m picking favourites_. _I’d like you to get to at least chapter three by next week._

_A.S._

“She must think I have all this time to do what she wants. You know, I’ve only made it to the Astronomy Library to work on my Patronus twice so far? Now this!”

“Good ol’ Sinistra,” said Rhiannon. “She looks out for us! She was only pulling your leg.”

“She still took points from Slytherin,” Astoria said.

“Oooooh,” Rhiannon mocked, “Don’t let no first years know.”

Astoria opened her father’s letter.

_Dear Astoria_ ,

 _Good morning_. _It is usually this time of year when your mother and I prepare the guest list for the Christmas banquet_. _Unfortunately_ , _on account of the war_ , _our celebration will be quite small_. _Maman_ ’ _s side of the family will be joining us in heart rather than in their person, and we are only inviting a few non-relatives_. _I may need to tell Daphne not to advertise our banquet this year_ , _but I trust you understand_.

 _With love_ ,

_Father_

Astoria was used to large Christmases. It wasn’t that she had considered adding to the guest list this early, but she felt bittersweet about how different the upcoming Christmas would be from the previous one. Back then, Rhiannon had fewer grudges, and Draco’s family wasn’t totally disgraced. Neither Rhiannon nor the Malfoys were on the guest list this year. The Greengrasses were _in charge of_ Rhiannon, and contrarily, the Malfoys would probably never set foot in Quennell Park again.

With her own family’s Christmas being private, Astoria was on the lookout for any festivities she could attend at school. For a time, there was nothing interesting, so Astoria, Rhiannon, and Flora made a day out of concocting festive boiled sweets for their professors under Hestia’s careful instruction.

“I hope they don’t think we’re trying to butter them up for good marks,” Flora said as she tied a snowflake-patterned bow around the jar of sweets for Professor Burbage.

“Nah, me and Astoria bought the teachers all sorts of gifts last year. Even Snape thanked us. A little holiday cheer don’t hurt.”

By the end of the week, Rhiannon and Hestia reported that Professor Hagrid had been the most delighted by the sweets of all, whereas Flora said that she had spotted Professor Snape using the sweets to trap infesting doxies.

“As long as they’re used somehow, it counts as a good present,” said Astoria.

Soon, word of Professor Slughorn’s Christmas party started spreading like snowdrifts. Astoria was still technically allowed in the Slug Club, although she and her friends had missed a helping of dinners based on when they anticipated being bored. In any case, each of them could invite someone to the Christmas party. There was no way on earth that Astoria could bring Draco, but she didn’t need to. All she needed was to mention it when Parkinson wasn’t nearby.

With the exception of breakfast time, it was rare that Astoria saw Draco during the day. She only found him accidentally, when he was alone in a corridor on her way back from Ancient Runes. He looked spectral in the sunlight, as though it passed through him instead of gracing his blond hair. When his greeting echoed in the corridor, it only added to the effect of his haunt. Astoria sat on a windowsill, and he joined her without demur.

“Professor Slughorn is hosting a Christmas party on the twentieth,” she said.

Draco stared out the windows parallel and said, “Have fun, then.”

“I would invite you,” Astoria declared. “I would have already invited you.”

Draco smirked, but he didn’t hold his head high. Instead, he gazed at the floor.

“If Pansy heard of it…” Astoria said, wanting to conclude with, “she’d hang my shrunken head on her bedpost.” Instead, she tensely said, “I’d be in a proper fix, wouldn’t I?”

“Yeah, I’d say we would,” Draco considered.

The silence that followed was too deliberate. Two years of knowing each other swam through Astoria’s head. About half was good. About half was bad. But they really should have said how they felt by this point, since they both knew. As usual, though, Pansy Parkinson smudged the images in Astoria’s daydreams.

“Why are you…?” Astoria dared. “And Pansy, er…”

Draco shifted uncomfortably, but Astoria had to say it. She wasn’t about to be Draco’s “backup,” after all, like she had been for Philippe.

“I don’t see you together very much. But I have heard her complain about that lately, and I get the impression that she’s actually more needy than lonely. To tell the truth, I used to think you had a lot in common, but she’s kind of stayed in the same place since I met her, and you’ve, er…”

He started to laugh, but snuffed it out and stood up.

“You know I’d ruin your perfect little life, right?”

His voice shrivelled and soured as he paced.

“My family, your family –– it’s just a really bad time, Astoria. I can be selfish, you know. I could say, ‘I’ll meet you for dinner at eight on the night the war’s over.’ But I won’t do that to you. You shouldn’t even be in this country.”

“I think I can manage,” Astoria argued because it sounded like he was putting up walls.

“Yeah, all those dead people in the papers thought they could manage, too. _He_ knows my father, Astoria. He knows my aunt. How long do you think it’ll take him to find you if we get involved? Ten minutes, Astoria. No, five minutes.”

“All right, Draco.”

Astoria hated the way he was turning her down. It was so apologetic. So full of addictive “what ifs.”

“It’s a bad time, that’s all,” he stressed.

“I know, Draco.”

He stopped pacing and looked at her vacantly. He walked away with his hands in his pockets. Knowing that the feeling was mutual brought Astoria no happiness. It made sense that Draco couldn’t be with her, but that didn’t mean he had to stay with Parkinson. Obviously, he wanted to stay in his comfort zone.

With pain came inspiration. Astoria modified and finished the piece she had played for Draco, which also had been one of the demos picked by Mr Davis. The song was finally angry enough for Rhiannon not to complain about its sound, however suspicious she might become of the lyrics.

Astoria invited Montel Davis to Slughorn’s party because she knew he wouldn’t make a big deal of it. She suggested that Hestia go together with Rhiannon, but Hestia couldn’t handle that.

“We’re already both going! That’s way too obvious if I ask,” she fretted.

“‘Obvious’ isn’t always a bad thing, Hestia,” Astoria sighed.

The day of the party was also the day Pariah had to record their EP. The task was more exhausting than usual, with Rhiannon rejecting even more takes than Mr Davis. When the job was finished, they barely had enough energy to get ready for the party. Getting the twins out of the dormitory became a thorny task once they opened the parcels with their dresses in them. The dresses sent from home were outright hideous, with collars that might have sprouted beaks and flown away had they not been sewed onto ready-to-wear slabs of green. They were identical, that is, totally disrespectful to twins in their teens. Clearly, their aunt had sent them. Flora eventually decided that food and gossip were more important than what she wore, but Hestia would not come.

“Just throw on something else,” Rhiannon said.

“I don’t have anything else. This is the only formal outfit I have here! It’s better not to go than to go in plain robes… or this thing! Alecto did this on purpose. I can’t do it.”

Rhiannon looked at Flora, who shrugged, and they started to leave. With Hestia sulking stomach-down on her bed, Astoria caught Rhiannon’s attention without Hestia noticing.

“Hm?” Rhiannon enquired monosyllabically.

Astoria gestured toward Hestia. Rhiannon spread her arms as if to say, “What do you want _me_ to do?” Trying hard not to alert Hestia, Astoria pointed her finger at both of them, waving it back and forth. Finally, Rhiannon understood that she was trying to get say “Go together.” Rhiannon raised one eyebrow and pointed her thumb at Hestia in disbelief. Astoria nodded as deliberately as she could.

“You know what, I can’t go either,” Rhiannon said.

Flora rolled her eyes.

“W-What? No, you go. You’re all dressed up, Rhi,” Hestia said.

“But who’s gonna be my date?”

Hestia sprung out of bed like a Jack-in-the-box.

“What? I didn’t –– I mean –– seriously? I’m not dressed!”

“Well, bibbidi-bobbidi-boo!” Rhiannon said mysteriously.

Hestia erupted in giggles. It wasn’t long before they were all on their way to the party, Hestia at Rhiannon’s arm.

“What was that she said to her that was so funny?” Astoria asked Flora quietly.

“Oh gosh,” Flora said. “We’ve been going to Professor Burbage’s house in Hogsmeade to watch Muggle _feature films_ , or, er, _motion pictures_. We’re doing projects on Muggle ideas of magic, and yesterday, we watched _Cinderella_. I thought it was about Animagi until a witch-fairy half-breed Apparated in and started singing in tongues to make it a love story.”

“I’ve never seen a motion picture before… Wasn’t it any good?” Astoria asked curiously.

“Meh. I’m doing my project on _Sleeping Beauty_. The witches –– er, ‘fairies’ –– were much more realistic.”

Montel joined Astoria in the common room, saying, “I hope you don’t expect me to do _that_ ,” with reference to Hestia’s grip on Rhiannon.

“No, I sort of need my arm to have blood circulation,” Astoria answered.

Professor Slughorn’s party was too cosy for Astoria’s liking, as though he hadn’t Extended the room enough for the amount of people he invited. The presence of all of the Weird Sisters only made her feel more cramped, since she felt she was limited to the places they were not. _Their_ records were always hits.

“Whoa now,” Montel said, realising exactly where her gaze had gone. “Don’t you worry about them. Everyone might love ’em, but I think they’re a lot of sell-outs.”

“Oh, Montel, you don’t have to say that.”

“Sure I do. Let’s go get drinks.”

Montel led the charge to the refreshments table, where two adults were in a heated conversation about some fellow named Worple. It wasn’t long before Astoria recognised the woman as Glenda Chittock, a dhampir for whom she had performed a radio show.

“And the worst of all is that I wasn’t invited personally. Worple dragged me along with no concern for this horde of humans,” the deathly pale man next to Ms Chittock complained.

“That pasty won’t do you any good, Sanguini. Here, I’ve brought iron chews.”

“Glenda, you’re a hero,” Sanguini said hoarsely, taking a few of the tablets she gave him.

Montel bared his teeth and made clawing motions at Astoria, who discouraged him just in time for Ms Chittock to turn toward them.

“Hey girl! I see the band’s still… tight!”

Rhiannon waved with her free arm.

“You gonna come in for a show sometime?”

“Whenever Mongaby picks a good day,” Hestia said.

“‘A good day!’” Sanguini interjected. “See, they can say things like that.”

The girls and Montel averted their eyes awkwardly until Ms Chittock said “See you” and they felt like they could dismiss. The short encounter with Ms Chittock had created bit of a buzz about Pariah, and, sensing this, Montel hung about a group of Quidditch players so as not to be recognised for his father’s work with In.fine.it. Many of the Hogwarts alumni introduced themselves to Pariah, so Astoria, Rhiannon, and Hestia offered their best conversation. It must not have been the great time Flora imagined, so she stirred the cauldron by saying, “There goes Draco!” in Astoria’s ear. Astoria thought it was a rude joke and did not believe her.

“Really, Flora…”

“What? I just saw him! Looked like he was in trouble with Professor Snape.”

Astoria glanced round the room periodically, never seeing Draco but catching Rhiannon looking into her broken Foe-Glass.

“Oh, he’s clear,” Rhiannon gasped. “The hell’s he up to?”

Astoria was suspicious herself. If Flora had seen him, why did he just crop up there instead of ditching Parkinson and accepting Astoria’s invitation? Where was he now? The clearer Draco’s image became in the glass, the shakier Astoria became. Was he trying to get back at Rhiannon in some way? It was frightening and confusing, and Astoria remained almost as close to Rhiannon as Hestia by the end of the night.

Astoria only saw Draco in person on the train back to King’s Cross, by which point he was not discernible in the Foe-Glass. Nonetheless, when he passed by the girls to find a seat, Astoria unconsciously grabbed her wand in her pocket. When she realised that she had done that, she barely stopped herself from crying. Her feelings for him were only causing her pain. This wasn’t worth it, was it?

 _Maybe Rhiannon isn_ ’ _t over me_ , she thought. _He might have come to the party since he knew I wanted him to_ , _so he showed up in her Foe-Glass_. _He_ ’ _s not trying to talk to me today_ , _so he isn_ ’ _t in the glass_ … _right_?

The excuse Astoria thought of only made her embarrass herself.

 _Idiot_. _It_ ’ _s not anything to do with you_ , said a train of thought she hadn’t always had. She knew that Draco was doing something unwholesome that put him in Rhiannon’s Foe-Glass. Yet no matter how many chapters on Legilimency she learnt, she still couldn’t figure him out.

“If the EP doesn’t sell and they drop us, I’d still like to play with you lot,” Flora said out of nowhere.

“Er, what brings this up?” Rhiannon wondered.

“I think it’s been good for me,” considered Flora. “It’s nice to do something besides schoolwork and Hogsmeade with you.”

Astoria understood what Flora meant. The twins weren’t allowed to contact friends at Christmas or in the summer, a scheme that cost them most friends. They had found real companionship with Pariah. It was more than a band, so it was more than something a label executive could shut down. Before the girls went their separate ways at the station, Rhiannon assured the twins that they would stick together, signed or unsigned. Hestia flung her arms over Rhiannon, saying, “Happy Christmas –– and a safe one, too!”

Rhiannon watched Hestia leave, a vivid blush appearing beneath her freckles.

“Ah, don’t look at me like that, Astoria.”

~

The scents of cinnamon, pine, and burning logwood touched every corner of Astoria’s large home. Rhiannon and Daphne had fallen asleep ages ago, but Astoria had tossed and turned in her plush blankets until she ultimately sat up and held them round her shoulders. It was too cloudy for stargazing, but one day, Astoria would be able to clear the skies like Professor Sinistra. If only she could clear her mind. She was almost finished with the Legilimency manual, but reading it off of school property was risky business when there wasn’t enough adult magic about to disguise her. Astoria hurried from the warmth of her blankets to her robe and put on her slippers. By the light of candles which smelt faintly of peppermint, she strolled to the library. Her grandmother had books on everything, so there had to be a book on Legilimency that didn’t require magic. When Astoria checked her father’s topical directory of the library books (he often had too much time on his hands), she could only find books on Occlumency. Those weren’t as interesting, but Astoria meant business and took them all off the shelves anyway.

The first book, _Occlumency for the Modern Wizard_ , referred to Legilimency as a Dark art, so she picked another one. When _The Occlumency Encyclopaedia_ also called Legilimency a Dark art, Astoria decided to check all six books. Unanimously, Legilimency was considered a horrible menace rather than a tool and natural counterpart of Occlumency. Astoria had goose pimples even though she was close to the fire. She must have cast _Legilimens_ over fifteen times by then. Why would Professor Sinistra give her a Dark artefact? The Occlumency texts must have been biased, that was all. Astoria decided to skim them to make herself tired. On her walk back to her room, she heard her parents speaking in the parlour and thought she might ask them about Occlumency.

Her parents were leaning against each other, their silhouettes breathing like the fire in the hearth. For probably the first time in her life, Astoria realised that her arrival would actually be an intrusion. She listened to their conversation briefly.

“Are you with Katie Bell at the hospital tomorrow, my love?” her father asked.

“No, she is under the supervision of Madam Brown. It is just in time for Christmas,” her mother answered.

 _Christmas_ , Astoria repeated, continuing down the hall. _One of the loveliest times of the year_.

She hadn’t been home for months and took notice of the paintings she normally walked by. Many of the ones on her route were wedding portraits. They were always painted in spring –– the Vernal Equinox, to be exact. There was never a winter wedding, snowy though many of the dresses were. Astoria admired the beauty of these paintings, from her ancestors all the way to her parents. The Greengrass in the painting was always on the right, welcoming the new family member on the left with a priceless smile. The couple always stood before the grand staircase, which was always adorned with garland of peach blossoms, apple blossoms, and primrose. They made it look easy, like the family had been part of the same elaborate puzzle for hundreds of years, and that all one had to do was find a good, final piece.

Back in her room, Astoria paused in front of her vanity’s mirror. Her favourite robe had become too short for her. She had been ignoring it, but the robe truly was at her knees and was uncomfortable to wear with the tie. It had done its job, though, having kept her warm on her porch whenever she had the urge to stargaze before bed. Astoria still had the telescope her parents had given her for her fifth birthday for casual viewing, but she had acquired advanced telescopes since then.

 _Things like that are necessary_ , she thought as she crawled into bed.

The march of twenty-three guests into the house on Christmas Eve was made especially slow by the security questions Astoria’s father asked each person. Finally, they all sat for dinner at the same long table. Astoria had never had a Christmas Eve like this at her house. There were always about two-hundred guests, with music and dancing. This time, she could hear the dinnerware clinking between soft conversations. Other than Rhiannon, Astoria knew that the only guests who weren’t relatives were the tiny Tonks family and a few of her father’s Ravenclaw friends. They sat nearest the hosts, so Astoria’s place was between Nymphadora and Rhiannon, who would both occasionally put their elbows on the table. Uncle Faunus, who was just diagonal, noticed this and started to laugh at Astoria’s snooty expression.

“I am sorry that you have to see our celebration like this, Andromeda. Usually, it is much more festive, but the threat of war has made us wary of big parties,” Astoria’s mother said.

Astoria knew that her mother was still trying to express how dangerous the war was to Mrs Tonks. At last Christmas, it was Mrs Malfoy who had wanted her sister to know of the threat, only Astoria’s mother had to be the messenger. And she had been as unsuccessful as Mrs Malfoy herself would have been. Mrs Tonks and her family were not only going to remain in England but also fight with the Order of the Phoenix. It became obvious straight away that Mrs Tonks still wasn’t going to hear any of it.

“Nonsense, Estelle. I’ve seen your largest banquets, and you’re a lovely hostess through and though. Ted and I don’t have big Christmases anyway.”

Whether or not she was aware of it, Nymphadora looked like she would have preferred an even smaller Christmas. Though Astoria knew it wasn’t the jolliest gathering, Nymphadora had no Christmas spirit at all. Her job as an Auror had to be exhausting, and she probably wanted to relax at home. Astoria could not blame her.

“So, how is married life treating you, Sylvester?” Aunt Laureline asked her nephew.

Astoria didn’t hear his response because Nymphadora was nearly unable to swallow her bite of roast duck.

“Forgot how to chew, Dora? Guess you could morph yourself bigger teeth,” Mr Tonks joked, only to make her more distressed.

Dimsie and Prissy cleared the table well after everyone had finished the final course, yet the conversation still died out prematurely. Always attuned to the mood of a party, Mrs Ciel-Greengrass motioned gently to Astoria.

“Please play some Christmas songs for us, my sweet,” she asked quietly in French.

“What shall I play, Maman?”

“The old ones.”

Effortlessly, Mrs Ciel-Greengrass had relocated the party to the drawing room once more to hear Astoria at the piano. Though pressed to join, Daphne preferred to listen rather than sing like when they were younger. Astoria felt comfortable nonetheless. It was very unlike anything to do with Pariah to play music for her family again. She could pick what to play and how to play it.

Her favourite carol by far was “Minuit, Chrétien,” the original version of “O Holy Night.” Her mother used to sing it to her and eventually taught her how to play it herself. Astoria still preferred it to be sung to her, childish as it seemed. It felt strange to make her voice carry through the whole room when it had always been a lullaby to her.

“That was lovely, Astoria. Thank you,” Mrs Ciel-Greengrass sniffled as there was a gentle applause. Only Astoria’s parents, Daphne, and Mrs Tonks understood French, but most knew the tune. Astoria sang “The Holly and the Ivy,” her father’s favourite, and “Hark! The Harold Angels Sing” before Rhiannon stepped toward the piano and asked Astoria if she knew anything like “Last Christmas” and “Wonderful Christmastime.” Mr Tonks also took interest in the request, but Astoria had to admit she had never heard the songs.

“I have one you may know, then,” Mrs Tonks said a bit shyly. “It’s ‘Un jardin d’hiver.’”

“I remember that one!” Astoria said.

“Un jardin d’hiver” was a French Wizarding lullaby. The mother in the song, which of course became your mother when it was sung, was teaching her child about the four seasons, and how winter was like bedtime for flowers. The child, who clearly wants to stay up later, believes the mother can make all the flowers bloom at night in the middle of winter. So, the mother gives in and carries the child to the window and makes the entire garden bloom. When the child says it must be magic that made the flowers bloom, the mother says it was only her love. Whenever Astoria’s mother had sung it to her and Daphne, she would conjure up bouquets of tulips. It had always been so much fun.

Nymphadora gasped when Astoria started playing the song and said, “I remember that too!”

The music seemed to finally cheer Nymphadora. When Astoria was finished, everyone picked up a game of consequences. Christmas, although it was much different from usual, would not be haunted by the war.

~

The first thing Astoria unpacked back at school was the strange Legilimency book. It had been all she wanted to “read,” if only to have proof that she shouldn’t be reading it at all.

“Rhiannon, erm…”

Astoria already regretted opening her mouth. Rhiannon had looked right at her, and Astoria sensed her irritation in spite of Rhiannon’s façade of politeness. Astoria looked downward, ashamed of the sheer clarity Rhiannon’s mind had been providing her as of late. It was like all the times Astoria had cast _Legilimens_ added up to its strength, incurring a psychic curse.

“Rhiannon, I know this is a stupid question, but do you _ever_ see Professor Sinistra in the Foe-Shard?”

“What? No, never. Why?”

“Well, she must be a Legilimens if she gave me this book, and––”

“So? That don’t make her evil. She probably wants you to be able to sniff out Death Eaters or something.”

“That’s just it, Rhi,” sighed Astoria. “If she is a Legilimens, why hadn’t she known that Professor Moody was really her husband, Barty Crouch?”

“Oi, everything I know about this mind-reading guff, I know from you. So you tell me. He must’ve been a better Occlumens than she was the other thing.”

“Okay… Well, it bothers me that most books consider Legilimency to be a Dark art. Who do you suppose taught Professor Sinistra?” Astoria wondered.

“Isn’t Dumbledore supposed to be psychic like? I’ll bet he did, in a non-Dark-arts way.”

“Then who taught _him_?” Astoria said, remembering from her Occlumency books that Legilimens were historically Dark warlocks, rarely anyone normal.

“I dunno, Astoria. Merlin himself. Dumbledore’s pretty old.”

The conversation wasn’t accomplishing anything, and Rhiannon turned her attention to the beautiful copy of their EP, _Flare_ , that had just been released. It had a realistic heart on the cover that was being consumed with flames. It looked so convincing that sometimes Astoria could hear the fire crackle. Of course, she was getting carried away. The publicity of the EP was, in truth, bothering her, considering that their thoughtful album had been ignored. Something with only four tracks was causing quite a bit of fan uproar in its short life, but then again, it did have very strong songs:

  1. Guest Soap
  2. Ashes
  3. My Root Doctor
  4. I Swear This Helps



Astoria could only imagine how Mr Mongaby would schedule their concerts. It would be hard to work around everything else, especially with a new class on her hands. Whether the practice was innocuous or not, Astoria was swept into Legilimency and Occlumency lessons every Wednesday from 1:15 until as late as five o’clock. Thankfully, Professor Sinistra had plenty of ways of putting her mind at ease, such as offering Astoria bottles to store memories she wanted to keep private and providing snacks. Astoria was thankful for the bottles in particular, since her performance in Occlumency was deplorable. It wasn’t uncommon for her friends to read her like a book with no magic, but up against Legilimency, Astoria was a biography waiting to be written.

It was the third week into Legilimency lessons when Professor Sinistra did not get right down to business as she usually did. Instead, she had Astoria sit in a comfy chair in the Astronomy Library for a talk. Somehow, the imminent conversation was worse for Astoria than having her mind read.

“I’ve been a Legilimens for years, Astoria,” the professor began.

“…And you’ve never seen somebody with as much stress as me,” Astoria guessed.

“Not true,” she said softly. “What I’ve learnt is that everyone is stressed by something. No one’s mind is ever completely free of troubles, no matter how much they’re covered up. But it’d be rather rude for me to use Legilimency on you and not have a talk about it, hm? I’ve sifted through enough frothy stress of yours. Tell me what’s really up in your own choice of words.”

“Erm… Well, to start… The EP we just released has actually been successful,” said Astoria. “We thought we were going to get dropped by our label before the contract even ran out. So now, with the success of the EP, we’ll have to devote more time to publicity. We’re still on a solid label, so it’s a solid job. And I’d rather devote that time to Transfiguration, because, you know, my future lies in my education, not in music.”

Astoria was surprised she had said what she was feeling so cogently. It must have been all the swimming Professor Sinistra had done in her head.

“That EP did seem to be bothering you. I heard some of it on the wireless, though, and it is excellent. I’m surprised you and your band put out that level of art in such a short time frame.”

“Well, thank you, Professor. But we worked on those few songs so much that they’re past _al dente_ for me. Another thing that’s bothering me is that the song closest to me is getting the most airplay, and Rhiannon’s jealous.”

“Have you been using Legilimency on Rhiannon?”

“I-I… It’s not always on purpose,” Astoria answered.

“I’ve lost friends that way, Astoria,” Professor Sinistra said seriously. “If you are to become a Legilimens, you must understand how people work. If they think something but choose not to say or act upon it, that counts for something. It’s the best any one of us can do. Rhiannon has no ability in Occlumency, and you must not use that to your social advantage.”

“Yes, Professor. I’m sorry. I will try better.”

“And another thing we need to discuss. Any small amount of Occlumency causes you significant trouble. Your advancement through the Legilimency spell these past two weeks has been due to my lack of defence. So, from now on, you must practise getting through an occlusion. It could prove mentally exhausting, so I want you to keep on a regular _and_ sufficient sleep schedule,” Professor Sinistra commanded.

“Professor, I need to ask,” Astoria started, “why are you teaching only me this? If we’re talking about things that are bothering me, then, erm… that’s one of them. Why not hold a class, or at least let me bring my friends?”

Professor Sinistra’s face dimmed with that trademark seriousness, and she took Astoria’s hands. The professor’s hands were chapped and warm, but her eyes were wet and cold.

“Legilimency has never been a class here, nor will it ever be. The potential to abuse it is too great, especially amongst young people. If anything, we should be teaching Occlumency, but the board of governors is so nit-picky that it’s hard enough to get something added as an elective. If you are asked, you must say that we are working on Astronomy in an extracurricular fashion. As far as your friends go,” the professor said, getting even grimmer, “Rhiannon would not be able to master Occlumency before it becomes necessary for her to leave the country anyway. I hope your family has been seeing to that.”

“I––”

“I really needn’t tell you why I am keeping the art from the Carrow twins, but they are in a position to be exploited by their relatives.”

There it goes with the _war_ again… There wasn’t a day that went by without talk of the war, or worse, altered behaviour on account of the war. What was the point of learning Legilimency that Astoria could barely use?

“If Rhiannon has to leave the country, I do, too. We live together. My family is blood-traitorous,” Astoria said.

“Look, if you don’t want to learn this, you can have your free periods back,” the professor said. “This school has not provided a satisfactory D.A.D.A. curriculum for I don’t know how long. You never know when it could come in handy, Astoria. I was once a young girl in Slytherin, too. I would not have known who my enemies were without it.”

That vague line of reasoning was enough to keep her coming to the lessons, however under-the-table or impractical they might have been. If nothing else, at least Legilimency was considered cool by her friends and boosted her confidence. Astoria remembered that her boggart had manifested itself as a fear of being lied to. Maybe one day she could see through lies effortlessly. People respected _that_ kind of power in a different way than they respected her because of her last name.


	14. Something Overdue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: Pansy uses the r-word; Pansy in general
> 
> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my [playlist is located here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy)
> 
> Chapter 14 - "Let's Talk About Your Hair" by Have Mercy

It had been six months and two weeks since the Dark Lord’s order.

Draco had once not known what panicking felt like. He once knew nothing beyond the beautiful grounds of the Malfoy Manor. He never panicked back then. Not once.

It was February now. _February_.

He was always tired, always on edge. He had, in the past, been able to find the fun (or at least the goodness of troublemaking) in any situation. All he wanted was to know that his family was safe and to go to sleep. The pride that had originally called him to this duty had wavered. He was desperate. His plan to kill Dumbledore required assistance from _other_ Death Eaters. To bring in the dogs, Draco was relying on a Vanishing Cabinet in that secret room in the castle. The cabinet acted as a direct portal to Knockturn Alley. This plan was either out of cowardice or a realistic appraisal of the old man’s strength.

_How did it get to be February?_

Draco had been working on the Vanishing Cabinet since five in the morning. He could barely keep his eyes open, and it had been a fluke that he remembered to attend Apparition lessons. It was not with any affability that his friends greeted him there.

“ _There_ you are,” said Crabbe. “Listen, I know you think you’re a bigwig now, but that don’t mean you need to wake us before the sun’s up by leavin’ the dorm. And I’m sick of you telling us to guard that room every afternoon. I have a life, too.”

“I don’t have much choice at this point, Crabbe. Anything in your life isn’t going to add up to the results of this operation.”

He had not even got his point across to Crabbe before McGonagall started bitching at him to stay quiet whilst the Apparition instructor talked. His whole graduating class was there, but naturally, she managed to single him out. With Draco’s lack of sleep and irritability, he had no clue if he’d even be remotely successful at Apparition. With his current academic luck, he’d likely splinch himself and lose a few fingers. But he wasn’t going to have much chance learn to Apparate otherwise, and tried to bear the lesson. Crabbe had the nerve to continue to harass him –– _him_ , a Death Eater –– about the details of his mission. If that wasn’t enough, Harry Potter sneaked up on him, having eavesdropped as much as anyone’s guess.

“I tell _my_ friends what I’m up to if I want them to keep a lookout for me,” Potter commented.

That damned voice at a time like this was enough to send Draco for his wand, but because the world revolved around Potter, the instructor started talking again right on time, forcing everyone, and Draco, to position themselves to Apparate. Draco would have liked to see Potter’s face splinch right off his head.

The instructor’s entire career had evidently been based in giving horrible directions, because nobody, not even Draco, was able to Apparate on the first couple of tries. Ernie Macmillan, an annoying Hufflepuff, fell flat on his face on his second try, but since he wasn’t near other Hufflepuffs, there was a chorus of laughter.

“Yikes. Are you all right?”

The voice caught Draco’s attention in the crowd, but it turned out to be Daphne Greengrass’s. It was surprising how much she sounded like her sister when she was saying something _nice_. Daphne helped Macmillan to his feet and spoke along the lines of nobody else being successful. That was the sort of thing friendly people did, and Daphne wasn’t even friendly. Those two were strangers… How much thinner was the bond between Draco and his friends if they never did anything like that for one another? His mood soured further. The people he hung out with liked his money. Whenever the Dark Lord was ready to take over, they’d cling to Draco for status. Acts of genuine kindness? Forget it.

Some Hufflepuff girl from across the room had succeeded in splinching her leg off of her body and let out piercing wails, both up until and long after the professors healed her. Those teachers wouldn’t be nearly as quick to help Draco if it came to it.

“Did you see the look on her face?” Pansy laughed from in front of him. “Oh, Draco, what’s wrong? You know we’ll Apparate before the rest of these clowns do. Class is twelve weeks.”

“Yeah, I know.”

She tailed him all the way to the common room, which wasn’t unusual for her, but Draco soon realised that he had attracted the usual crowd. Blaise was whispering to Goyle about something, and Pansy was pretending that she wasn’t listening. Yet when Crabbe gave her a look, she gave a furtive nod. They weren’t about to hold an intervention if it wasn’t on Draco’s terms. No way. If they wanted to know so much about the Dark Lord’s mission, they shouldn’t have spent so much time gossiping amongst themselves.

“You lot want to know so badly how it’s going?” he confronted them before they had a chance to ask.

They bunched together in the common room. Draco felt like he was in a Quidditch huddle. It might have looked suspicious to other students, but they weren’t going to dare to get closer.

“I understand why you’re curious. I’ve told you I’ve got a job. I guess you think it’s my responsibility to update you. Well, you know what? I don’t _get_ updates from my boss. I just _know_ ,” he hissed, smacking his marked arm. “I’m not some number-cruncher at the Ministry. Apparently I’ve overstepped my boundaries by asking for a few favours here and there.”

He looked directly at Crabbe and Goyle, who finally looked at their feet.

“That’s not it,” Pansy cooed. “I mean, not for me. I actually wanted to know if there was anything _I_ could do…”

“Yeah: don’t worry about what I’m doing.”

“It’s rather hard not to,” Blaise cut in. “I mean, some days I feel like you’ve lied to us about the whole thing. Other days I feel like you’re really out to kill someone.”

Pansy caught a scent of those words like an animal hunting for meat.

“Well, I know which one _you_ ’ _d_ prefer,” Draco finally snapped at her, but her only response was to explode with giggles.

Pansy’s laughter was a broken instrument Draco never wanted to play again. It was like she was laughing at his struggle with the mission. Comparing him to Rabastan Lestrange. Maybe neither of those assumptions were true, but she was sick in the head no matter how he looked at it! Draco wanted out of this corner where his so-called friends had congregated and were still talking at him. He wanted out of this room. He wanted to be alone. Pansy finally stopped her squeaky whispers when the common room door opened.

“Oh, look, it’s flat-chested Flora and her charm-retarded friend!” she said to draw attention.

Draco saw Flora draw her wand and did not seem to care if she was aiming at Pansy or the whole of Draco’s group. Draco had never been sure about Flora’s true nature, and he wasn’t about to get in a fight that could leave him with a time-consuming detention sentence or a hex all over his face. He did not have to make a move, though, since Astoria had gently placed a hand on Flora’s wand to lower it. The two girls walked arm in arm to their dorm, whispering. They had more important things than Pansy. Yet in the other corner of the room, Heather Thatcham and Tracey Davis glared at Pansy. She had successfully become the centre of attention, thus compromising Draco’s privacy. Daphne Greengrass, appearing from behind a bookshelf, gave Pansy a disappointed look and took off behind her sister to the dormitories.

Draco’s group finally dispersed, with Blaise finding a place to read, and Crabbe and Goyle positioning themselves by the fire. Since Theodore had been in the library, Draco could finally be alone in his room. All he needed was a small break. He would get back to work on the Vanishing Cabinet, for his life depended on it, but a small break away from the thing was not much to ask for…

Pansy had trailed behind Draco on the way to his dormitory. He felt his feet drag, like his body was so rife with exhaustion and anger that any weight would literally halt him. And did she ever pull on his hand with such weight.

“Pansy,” he said through his dry throat. “Go do your homework or something.”

“Are you serious?” she said. “Homework is like, the opposite of what I want to do.”

“I don’t really care what you do,” he said, pondering how many more steps he had to his pillow. “But I’d like to be alone now.”

“Don’t you think you’ve been alone enough? I mean, we hardly get to talk anymore. I was thinking we could at least, you know… be alone together.”

Her face was no more pleasant to look at than the dreadful length it’d take for him to get down the hall. She was still flushed, her eyes darting left and right, her clutch loosening only to mimic the tenderness she simply did not have. He knew why she was doing this now. Why she had waited all this damn time to put it back on the table. The last time she wanted some, she had been reading all sorts of things about Death Eaters. This time, she was exhilarated to hear about him being one. It turned her on. That was the ugly simplicity of every little message she was sending him as she smiled at him in the hallway.

“I want you to go,” he said, freeing his hand with some effort.

The motion had been much more dramatic than he had planned, and she got very tense.

“Are you missing what I’m saying, Draco? We’ve been dating a long time. You mean you really don’t wanna––”

“I don’t want anything from you if you’re going to be like this,” he answered jadedly.

She froze. She might have shivered.

“Draco…”

“ _Draaaaco_ ,” he mocked, the anger suddenly fuelling him. “What’s that word mean to you? Is it just something you _say_?”

“Draco, no, I’m sorry––”

“Ah! There it is again! Well, I’ve got another name you can use, Pansy. It’s _Rabastan_.”

“Rabastan? What about Rabastan? Draco, what’s going on? I’m so sorry I upset you. I’m so sorry…”

“I’m sorry, too, because I’ve got to break the news to you. I know Rabastan personally, and he’s not as hot as he is in the pictures you have in all those books,” Draco spat. “He’s ugly as hell, in and out. I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with someone who tortures and kills people.”

“Oh… oh my God…” she said with her hand over her mouth.

She was starting to cry. Draco was losing track of his goal. Maybe it had been to make her cry, after all. Something to prove that she had some functional mode besides giggly, horny, and absolute bitch.

“It’s a joke,” she lied. “The stuff about Rabastan was a joke. With Millicent. An inside joke! I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have joked about someone you know. Draco, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. I won’t t-talk about that stuff anymore.”

She was sobbing. Draco wondered how many peepholes in the hallway doors had people behind them, watching. People always liked to watch trainwrecks. Draco shook his head because he realised he felt nothing watching her cry.

“I don’t want to talk anymore, either,” he shrugged. “You act like I’m the world to you, but you treat me like a trophy you’ve –– you’ve got to dust off every so often. Not someone you actually care about. I get it. I do get where you’re coming from. You want me for my money and my _bloody snake tattoo_!”

“That’s not true! That’s not true!” she cried, but she had nothing else to say.

“You want my money so bad? I’ll just _pay_ you to leave me the hell alone.”

There was a thump as Pansy fell against the wall to cry like the spectacle she was. She wasn’t sad she was losing _him_ ; she was only sad that she was losing. Draco jinxed the lock on his dormitory door shut and took a nap in peace.


	15. Parkinson's Wrath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my [playlist is located here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy)
> 
> Chapter 15 - "Sad Girl" by Lana Del Rey

Rhiannon was indifferent to the news of Malfoy and Parkinson’s breakup, even though the rumours of how it happened were getting pretty juicy by the next day. Instead, she was concerned with reading letters from Mr Mongaby and Ms Chittock, scheduling band performances, and monitoring sales and reviews of the EP. As if scheduling around everybody’s study nights and Astronomy classes wasn’t enough, none of the girls could decide on setlists for radio and live concerts. “The Pariah,” “Useless,” and “Sweet Nothings” had been popular tracks from their first album, and “Mire” and “Saccharine” were strong takeaways from their flop album. All tracks on their new EP were getting airplay, so that should have been a given, but Astoria didn’t want to perform arguably the most popular one in concert.

“I’m not sure I can do ‘Ashes’ justice to the recording,” she made an excuse.

They were alone in the dorm with crumpled drafts of setlists surrounding them. Hestia and Flora were still at dinner, but they had given Rhiannon and Astoria a few guidelines after a compromise. Hestia’s rules for songs involved the “musts,” whilst Flora’s were the “must not’s.” It had still left plenty of room for Rhiannon and Astoria to disagree.

“Don’t go telling me you’re not singing that one because you’ve gone shy,” Rhiannon said. “It’s our biggest hit yet.”

“Can’t we stick to the other three? They’re nice, too.”

“What’s with you and this song? The lyrics? You know it ain’t easy for me to sing ‘Useless’ no more, since I wrote it about you and me. Remember that?” admitted Rhiannon. “But you’ve gotta treat it as a performance. It means all different things to the audience that aren’t what it means to you. That’s what matters.”

“Yes, that’s a very good point,” sighed Astoria. “Fine, put it on.”

“All right, good. I want to make these performances successful, even if it means me singing about you and you singing about Malfoy.”

Astoria raised her eyebrows halfway off her forehead and pursed her lips.

“Come off it, Astoria. I figured it out. You had a dumb crush on him and wrote a song. Now you don’t want to sing it because you’re over him. You afraid he’s gonna come for you now that he’s free of Pansy? Just give me the word, and I’ll shoo him off. Anyway, you don’t have to look so ashamed, because it’s selling records. ‘Sweet Nothings’ was about Philippe, so it’s not any different. Stop writing songs about stupid boys if you can’t perform them.”

“Point taken, Rhi.”

“You are over it, ain’t you?”

“Please do me a favour and refrain from telling the twins.”

Astoria didn’t look ready to give her a better answer, so Rhiannon dropped it. She would have liked to remind Astoria that Draco was showing up in the Foe-Shard from time to time, but she knew the reminder wouldn’t have been gentle. It was very difficult for Rhiannon to understand how Astoria’s crush had festered to the point of her composing a song about it. Had it been in that overachieving Astronomy class of hers? Last Christmas at that awful ball? Any number of times he tried to show off to her? Or worse… maybe a time Rhiannon didn’t know about. She was feeling it in her stomach.

“I won’t tell the twins if you tell me one thing,” she negotiated. “Why’d you like him? I mean, it’s Malfoy we’re talking about.”

“I guess it’s because he…” Astoria uttered.

Rhiannon should have never asked the question, because watching Astoria try to boil all her feelings down to only one answer was even more painful than not knowing. Astoria’s eyes darted all over the floor. She gritted her teeth. There was pain behind her voice.

“I guess it’s because I’m a moron.”

“Nah,” Rhiannon tried to soothe her. “I get how it goes sometimes. You like somebody only because they like you. It’s not a very good reason, but it happens.”

Rhiannon secretly wished that Astoria would have been more reassuring about it being done with. Apparently, Astoria wasn’t at that point, especially with the news of Parkinson getting dumped. In time, it would resolve, though. One day it might be funny. In the meantime, Rhiannon had to distract her. It wasn’t like Astoria had been the only one with a crush.

“I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about my crush, who, y’know, _isn’t_ Malfoy,” Rhiannon said lightly. “Do you think Hestia would wanna go steady with me? I might ask her come Valentine’s Day. It’s getting ridiculous the way we dance round the issue. We’re in the same dorm, same band, same circle of friends.”

“I think Hestia would be delighted,” Astoria said. “I wouldn’t even wait until Valentine’s Day.”

“I guess so… that is pretty cheesy.”

“Well, no, she wouldn’t mind Valentine’s Day, but since she admires you so much, why not sooner? That is, if you’re really feeling the same way she does.”

Rhiannon smiled, “I am.”

It had seemed impossible that she would ever have a girlfriend not so long ago. Rhiannon had been one type of social outcast after another in her life, and it had finally come to this. A girl she wanted to be with wanted to be with her, too. For as outgoing as she usually was, Hestia was shy about going steady. Rhiannon had a pretty good idea why. Hestia thought that she liked Rhiannon more than Rhiannon liked her. That had been the root of the censoring of her compliments and the briefness of her touch. Only at Slughorn’s party had Hestia been more confident, but there was still that hesitation on her part that left the cards in Rhiannon’s hands. Rhiannon was finally over Astoria, over Asenath, and over the point in her life where she thought she should be ashamed. She didn’t have a plan except to ask when it felt right.

“I think I’ll ask her when she comes back!”

“What? Really?”

“Why the hell not? It’s as good a day as any.”

“Oh, I don’t know!” Astoria giggled. “Maybe because dinner’s made everybody’s breath garlicky tonight. It’s not very romantic, is it?”

“Right. Because I’m the shining example of romance. She’s our roommate, Astoria. She’s already seen me in the sad bra.”

“That’s true. At least everyone has a sad bra,” Astoria said wisely.

“If she don’t want me on a sad bra day, then she can’t get me on a good bra day.”

Astoria made a little fist and nodded passionately.

“Go get her, Rhi.”

“You’re not coming?”

“I might be down in a bit. This is you and Hestia’s moment.”

Rhiannon checked herself in the mirror before she left.

 _Yep_ , _that_ ’ _s what my face looks like_ , she nodded.

She didn’t drag her feet on her way to the common room. On the contrary, she was so ready that she was disappointed to see that Hestia wasn’t back yet. There was a cluster of second-years playing a board game, a brooding seventh-year studying for his N.E.W.T.s, and an unfortunate heap of robes called Pansy Parkinson in a corner by the window. Astoria was right; this wasn’t very romantic of Rhiannon on this particular evening, but it wasn’t something that could wait anymore. Rhiannon had a seat and tried to gather her thoughts, but she couldn’t concentrate when she recognised that Parkinson was playing the _Flare_ EP. It was strange that she owned a copy, but it was really uncanny that she was listening to it rather than burning it. Something was wrong. Parkinson was pausing and playing ‘Ashes,’ the song Astoria had not wanted to play live. She had done this five times since Rhiannon had sat down.

“Clarke, come here.”

What made Parkinson think she’d ever listen to her orders? Already uncomfortable, Rhiannon ignored her command. She watched her out of the corner of her eye. The second-years looked over at Parkinson like she had been talking to herself. She paid no mind and continued to pick through the track Rhiannon’s EP. Rhiannon noticed she was only in her socks, and then Parkinson startled her half to death by turning round.

“She’s talking about me in this song, isn’t she, Clarke?”

Parkinson’s blank stare was the worst part of it. She was still too proud to make eye contact with a Muggle-born, so it looked like her eyes were glazing right over.

“Answer me.”

Rhiannon didn’t say a word, and it drew the other students’ attention to them. Rhiannon, by chance, knew that Astoria was indirectly referencing Parkinson in the song, but nobody would have ever guessed the specifics. Yet Parkinson turned the volume up and zoomed through the song to play only the parts in question.

_I wear my heart on my sleeve_

_She wears all your jewels_

Anyone could say that about anybody… Rhiannon had actually not been that impressed with Astoria’s unimaginative lyrics. So what if Parkinson thought it was about her? Nobody was going to notice if she didn’t make a scene of it! She was only making her reputation even worse by announcing that someone had dissed her in a song.

_Her eyes will lock on you_

_And only glow for gold_

Those two disparate lyrics weren’t even the overall theme of the composition. Parkinson was butchering their music for drama’s sake. She interfered with the moment the twins came in, too, ruining Rhiannon’s opportunity to ask Hestia out.

“You two know it, too. You all knew she was writing about me,” Parkinson said, shuffling over in her socks to the twins.

Everyone was looking at her like she was off her hinges. In fact, Astoria’s words were so vague that Parkinson looked mad for thinking they referenced her. Maybe she _wasn_ ’ _t_ trying to draw attention to herself. This was her natural reaction to being dumped. Rhiannon could only imagine what kind of tantrum she had thrown with her roommates last night.

“What are you on about?” Flora asked, stepping protectively in front of Hestia.

“I said that little bitch is making her money by slandering me! She thinks she can do anything she wants because she’s a Greengrass! She thinks she can talk about _my_ relationship‽ About _my_ boyfriend‽”

“Your boyfriend? Oh, I guess you haven’t heard the news, then,” Flora mocked, but for once, Rhiannon wished she hadn’t gone that far.

Assuming that Rhiannon and Hestia were celebrating the start of a relationship by now, Astoria had moseyed in and was trying to figure out the nature of the confrontation. She looked at Rhiannon in confusion, wondering why there wasn’t a happy scene with her and Hestia like they had planned. Rhiannon grabbed her wand discreetly in preparation of a fight, but Parkinson was three steps ahead of her. For one, she had seen Astoria walk in. Two, she had aimed her wand. And three, she had shouted “ _Stupefy_ ” with the kind of force to kill. Rhiannon’s Shield Charm didn’t even get close to Astoria before the girl was pitched backwards at full speed, her body making impact with a mirror that broke all over her.

“ _Stupefy_!” Parkinson shrieked again.

Astoria was already unconscious –– what more could Parksinson want? Rhiannon had blocked the spell that time, scrambling for Astoria with Flora and Hestia in tow. Flora cast a substantial shield around them all, and Rhiannon didn’t hesitate to back it up. Parkinson was sweaty and crying, trying desperately to break the shield but only looking at Astoria.

“ _Defodio_! _Defodio_!”

Was she trying to gouge the shields or Astoria? Hestia added a third layer of magical shield. Parkinson was scarier than they had ever thought. The second-years had run off shouting, but when the seventh-year boy heard the incantation for the Gouging Spell, he hurried over and put Parkinson to sleep. She hit the floor with too much mercy for Rhiannon’s liking. The sound of Astoria’s painful fall was still in her head.

“I’ll get Snape,” said the seventh-year.

“Get on it, then!” Rhiannon said.

No matter how much she wanted to kick Parkinson when she was down, she knew that she would be held accountable for any spells cast that weren’t strictly defensive. She had no handle of healing magic and watched her friend bleed from the glass cuts in horror. Hestia had brought Astoria onto her lap, and Flora maintained her shield just in case. Astoria was breathing, but she wasn’t breathing right. Parkinson had hit her entirely too hard. There was no excuse for that level of power behind a Stunning spell. All of this over some stupid boy. Hestia was too distraught to decide whether to heal the cuts or wait for Snape to show him what Parkinson had done.

“Are these _major_? I can heal the major ones before he gets here… What do I do, Flora?”

“Get that one!” Flora said of the one on the back of Astoria’s neck.

Hestia snapped out of it and looked like she wondered why she hadn’t made the decision herself. Flora knelt down and positioned Astoria. Hestia used one hand to pull the glass out and the other to close the wound with her wand as she went. Rhiannon started to cry watching the glass come out of Astoria, remembering how many times she had had to pull it from her own skin thanks to Geoffrey. She should have been faster to guard Astoria from this. She should have paid attention to healing magic in Charms. She didn’t have any stolen antibiotic ointment from the pound shop left.

Snape arrived shortly but not soon enough, and he finished what Hestia had started in a much neater way that wasn’t as likely to leave scars. Scars didn’t really matter at that point, because when the trio heard a belated crack from Astoria and looked to Snape for an answer, he said one of her ribs had been broken by the force of the spell.

“Is she gonna die?” Rhiannon erupted before she processed that he had been ensuring that would not happen.

“She’s not going to die, Miss Clarke,” Professor Snape said with surprising patience as he continued working charms on Astoria. “We’ll have to move her to the Hospital Wing. But first let’s wake this one up.”

“No!” cried Hestia. “Parkinson was going to use a Gouging spell on Astoria! Like the cuts from the mirror had given her the idea! She’s a sicko!”

Snape swished his greasy hair out of his face and squinted in repugnance.

 _Yeah_ , _this was a bigger fight than you thought_ , Rhiannon mentally complained. _That_ ’ _s why the bloke who came to get you didn_ ’ _t wanna come back_.

Rhiannon, Hestia, and Flora carefully elevated Astoria. Professor Snape got creative and put a Somnambulist charm on Parkinson, so she sleepwalked all the way to his office, where he sat her down, confiscated her wand, and woke her up.

“You stay right in this seat until I come back. If you leave, I will know,” he said over the slew of lies she had ready on her tongue.

Madam Pomfrey was not concerned with Astoria’s still being conked out and instead examined the force of impact where she had already started to bruise. It was true that Professor Snape had taken care of most of it, but even in their combined effort, he and Hestia had missed a few injuries only a trained eye could see. The more Madam Pomfrey found, the more Rhiannon adopted an “eye for an eye” attitude. If they weren’t in school, Parkinson would really know what being sorry felt like.

“You say this was a Stunning spell?” the old healer asked disbelievingly.

“An angry one,” Hestia said.

“I’ve seen it before, certainly,” she said. “But not from a teenaged girl. This… this is blunt force trauma. Professor Snape?”

“I was not present. I do, however, understand the severity.”

“Yes, well, I hope you do. Behaviour like this is too atrocious for a Prefect. It is atrocious for any student. I’m going to write up a report for the Headmaster.”

“These three and a seventh-year of mine, Garrick Newbourne, witnessed it. I will handle Miss Parkinson in the meantime.”

The meantime was turning out to be quite long. Rhiannon, Hestia, and Flora sat by Astoria’s bedside, waiting for her to wake up at any minute, as Madam Pomfrey had said. That didn’t happen, and it caught Pomfrey’s attention about the same time it was starting to worry Rhiannon.

“Miss Flora, go get Professor Snape and find out what other spell Miss Parkinson cast,” the matron instructed.

“Another spell? We didn’t hear her cast anything else!” Flora exclaimed, standing up. “I didn’t even think Parkinson was capable of nonverbal magic.”

“Is Astoria going to die?” Hestia panicked.

“Astoria is not going to die. I have taken care of the rest of her injuries. She is simply under a hex of some sort. I would rather know what it is than try to bring her out of it blindly. Some of these home-grown hexes can be quite rough.”

Flora was gone for twenty long minutes during which Astoria did not move, and Pomfrey refrained from forcing her awake. When Flora returned, she brought a small crowd with her to further ruin Parkinson’s reputation. Tracey and Montel Davis and Max Lazenby looked on in shock, and Daphne started weeping when she saw her sister.

“Parkinson used a Nightmare Curse. So Astoria’s been having nightmares this whole time, and she’ll continue to have them when she wakes up,” Flora reported.

“Parkinson admitted to that?” Hestia asked.

“Not at all. Professor Snape got it out of her.”

“Haven’t seen that one in some time,” Madam Pomfrey sighed. “Listen up! There are too many people here. When I wake Astoria, she will start hallucinating as though she is still in a nightmare. The fewer people here, the better. I need to whip up some medicine for her and bring her out of this. So, everyone, please leave.”

Rhiannon touched Astoria’s hand before she walked away with the group. She could not contain her anger at how viciously her friend had been attacked. She didn’t even get a chance to defend herself with all those counter-curses they had practised together. How was Astoria supposed to know her very own common room wasn’t safe? It was so unfair that people like Parkinson ever got a wand. Rhiannon glowered at Daphne, who was still crying loudly. Rhiannon was partially blaming herself for not protecting Astoria, but really, it was Daphne’s fault. She was the one who made friends with Parkinson years ago. She was the one who introduced Parkinson to Astoria. Parkinson might never have interacted with Astoria if it hadn’t been for that!

“I hope you learnt something today, Daphne,” Rhiannon barked. “Your friend’s a nutcase. She tried to kill your sister. I’d like to see you try to take her side now!”

Tracey looked troubled by Daphne’s lack of response and added on,

“Daphne, I’m sorry, but she’s right. Pansy’s not worth it. We shouldn’t hang out with her anymore, period. She’s only getting worse.”

Daphne hiccoughed and buried her face in a handkerchief.

“I know… I know… Oh, Astoria, she’ll never forgive me…”

“She’s pretty chill, Daphne,” Tracey reassured (whereas Rhiannon would have said _tough shit_ ). “She might be angry at you about being friends with her, but the most you can do is move forward. You’re sisters. Pansy’s not even nice to _us_ anymore.”

“Oh, I hope Pomfrey hurries up…” peeped Daphne. “Oh, Astoria…”

“What’s happened?”

Malfoy, yet another person who was easy to blame, had turned the corner. Theodore Nott was close behind.

“I’ll tell you what’s happened!” Rhiannon confronted him at the head of the group. “That arsewipe Parkinson tried to kill Astoria! She sent her flying into the bloody mirror, broke her rib, and cursed her! Astoria’s out cold, but you know, never mind that because at least she’s not _bleeding all over the floor_ no more!”

“Oh, Merlin. Is that all true?” Malfoy directed to Max and Tracey, whom he trusted more than Rhiannon. They nodded sadly.

“I told you something went down,” Theodore harrumphed. “I heard Flora broadcasting it. I didn’t come to get you for nothing.”

“Fine, you were right. Sheesh, I didn’t think she’d actually lose it,” Malfoy shook his head.

“Oh, Pansy’s lost it all right!” Daphne cried out at Malfoy, jabbing a finger in his chest. “All over you! Now my sister’s been attacked! _My baby sister_!”

“Listen, I’m sorry!” Malfoy said in defence rather than in apology. “Pansy’s not my responsibility! I didn’t know she needed a damn babysitter to keep her from blasting curses left and right! Let me through.”

“I don’t think so, Mouthy,” Rhiannon said, blocking his way. “Pomfrey said to clear the room ’cause Astoria’s gonna start hallucinating all the nightmares Parkinson put in her head.”

“God… fine.”

He sat down in a windowsill, and everyone stared at him.

“What? You were going to leave her alone in there? Go about your Sunday evening?” he spat at the group.

“It could be a long time,” Montel reasoned. “We’re not abandoning Astoria like you think. Rhiannon just told you why we had to leave. We were here before you anyhow.”

Malfoy responded resizing the bench in the hallway to accommodate all of them. He sat on it indignantly and looked at them. In turn, everyone else looked at one another, not sure whether to follow his example. Daphne broke the stagnation and sat right next to Malfoy. He charmed her crumpled handkerchief clean.

“Ugh, you’re only nice when you feel guilty,” Daphne mumbled.

The rest of them did sit down after her to wait for news. Professor Snape arrived right when the sunset came through the leaded glass windows, and he was either squinting or glaring at the rainbow light on his face.

“Greengrasses draw a crowd no matter what they do,” he remarked at the group.

Rhiannon took more offense than Daphne and corrected him, “Er, you know, Astoria didn’t _do_ anything, sir.”

He exhaled, “That is true. Now, Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis…”

“Yes?”

“Miss Parkinson has earned herself an out-of-school suspension no shorter than a month. When she returns, her time will be occupied by detention. If you wish to say goodbye to her, now is the time.”

“Er, we’ll stay here,” said Tracey.

Professor Snape walked through the Hospital Wing’s double doors whilst the rest of them kept waiting. Rhiannon wondered what Astoria was going through at the moment and what sorts of visions she was having from the hex. Rhiannon should have learnt hexes like the one Parkinson used. That was some nasty stuff.

“I feel helpless sitting here. She’s probably so scared,” Hestia said.

“I know. Pomfrey’ll take care of her, though. She fixed me right up when I used to get in fights,” said Rhiannon.

“I can’t believe this happened. What was Parkinson talking to you about before this mess anyway?” Hestia asked.

She obviously didn’t care that the other seven people present were listening in keenly. Rhiannon wasn’t as keen on announcing the breadth of the issue to everyone.

“She was doing her usual, trying to bully me about our music. When Astoria walked in, she went ballistic. You heard her.”

Hestia was being too loud as she recounted the scene, “Yeah, she came up to me and Flora and said Astoria was shredding her in her lyrics. I never really thought about that. Parkinson’s gone paranoid.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t even about her,” Rhiannon tried to say casually because everyone was still listening. “She always thinks everything’s about her anyway. The whole world revolves around her, so she thinks she can attack people in the common room.”

It was another ten minutes before Madam Pomfrey let visitors in. Usually, the matron was not prone to letting in so many people, but since the room didn’t have any other bed-ridden patients, all nine of the group were permitted to see her at once. Astoria looked miserable and was not herself at all. When she saw her visitors walk in, she exploded with tears and fell onto Professor Snape’s shoulders, saying:–

“Oh, they’re all fine! You were right! They’re all okay! Oh, thank God!”

“Yes, I tried to tell you,” Professor Snape said, attempting a comforting tone (it didn’t work too well).

“All of you are okay!” Astoria yelled through gleeful tears, stretching her arms out to nobody in particular. Professor Snape looked glad to be free of her grasp and let somebody else give it a try.

It was either Rhiannon or Daphne; that’s what made sense. Rhiannon hesitated a moment too long on account of not wanting to give Hestia the wrong idea, so Daphne came forward and latched onto her sister. Daphne must have been grateful Astoria was too confused about her nightmares to be angry, and held her very close. Daphne started a conversation in French with her to maintain privacy in a crowded space. It sounded like pigeon noises when Daphne spoke it, but very sweet and musical whenever Astoria did.

“Rhiannon,” Astoria called, and she was happy it was her turn. Astoria held her just as she had held her own sister, but she was overcome with emotion again and buried her face in Rhiannon’s arm. Rhiannon understood that it was the scarred arm that had concerned her; Parkinson’s nightmare must have involved Rhiannon dying from her basilisk wounds. What a horrible person… Parkinson only got more horrible as Astoria’s suffering went on… To make her hallucinate that something bad had happened to her friends was yet another unforgivable act.

“I’m fine, Astoria. Nothin’s going to happen to me. And she’s not gonna hurt you ever again. I’ll make sure of it.”

Astoria was solidly back in reality now. Rhiannon could tell by the way her eyes gained focus and her expression flattened when she saw Malfoy at the back of the group. Flora came to the rescue to distract her from the unwelcome visitor by giving out a rare hug. Rhiannon had never seen Astoria turn down a hug. Everyone present, minus Draco, had a nice little visit with the patient. Rhiannon watched him closely as he continued to hang back from the crowd, even when Astoria’s Ravenclaw cousins came in to see her. What was he waiting for? A private moment? Max, Theodore, the Davis siblings, and the Kippling sisters did eventually leave, but nobody else was going anywhere. In fact, Madam Pomfrey did have to enforce her usual six-visitor limit once the Greengrass clan arrived to find out just what had happened to their beloved Astoria.

Mr and Mrs Greengrass wasted no time in demanding answers from Professor Snape once they determined with their own eyes that their daughter was recovering. The Hospital Wing doors shut the rest of the visitors out. Astoria’s grandparents, aunts and uncles, and older cousins all took advantage of the lengthened benches, whilst Rhiannon and the other students milled about the corridor. Astoria’s most macho relative, Uncle Faunus, was in a cold sweat, shaking his head with his Squib son, Renshaw and his daughter Asenath. They were holding a discussion about You-Know-Who that Rhiannon did not particularly want to hear. She, Hestia, and Flora were waiting to see if Malfoy would cop out on account of the crowd and the length of time passed. He never did.

“You there –– Malfoy,” said Astoria’s grandmother, beckoning him over to where she sat.

Mrs Mosby-Greengrass’s hairdos got more elaborate each time Rhiannon saw her. She wore a heavy cloak with a feather pattern on the back. Her back was hunched as ever, and her glasses were as thick as a potions phial, yet she was by no mistake the most august witch presently in Hogwarts. Malfoy looked horrified to have been recognised, but he did not have a choice.

“Yes, Madam.”

“My husband and I have been waiting very patiently, but everything has gone through my little Adam, and he is too much in shambles to relay word to us, it seems. I’m getting very impatient listening to Faunus talk about Dark wizards. Surely Astoria has not been injured by one at school. You were present, were you not? What has happened to my granddaughter?”

“I was not there to see it, but a girl from my class cursed Astoria. She’s recovering. I saw her about twenty minutes ago. I believe we’re simply waiting on Professor Snape to, er… explain… to Mr Greengrass,” Malfoy tried. “It happened very suddenly in the common room, I’m told.”

 _A girl from my class_ , Rhiannon thought sourly. _Your nasty ex-girlfriend_. _You left that bit out_.

Mrs Mosby-Greengrass sighed, “It’s hard to believe something like this would happen to Astoria. She’s such a nice girl, don’t you think? My little Adam has never been comfortable since the day he sent her to school. Oh, well. I suppose all we can do is wait.”

“Yes, Madam. I’m sure she’ll be better soon,” Malfoy said, and he retreated back to his lonely corner.

Mrs Mosby-Greengrass had only asked Draco rather than Rhiannon about Astoria to see if he had been the cause of any of this. Rhiannon pointed out to Hestia and Flora how the old woman kept a close eye on him the whole time.

Eventually, Astoria’s parents must have got what they wanted out of Professor Snape, because the rest of the Greengrass family slowly filed in to see her (four at a time, since her parents did not come out). The night drew on forever for Rhiannon, but she couldn’t retire before Malfoy if her life depended on it. It took ages for Astoria’s parents and sister to leave in particular. Then, Professor Sinistra walked in with Winky the house-elf when things quieted down, and Rhiannon’s group and Malfoy followed her in.

“You’re still in pain,” Professor Sinistra said to Astoria, bringing a hand to her own ribs to demonstrate. “It hurts there, dear?”

“Yes… Erm, I’ll be better soon,” Astoria insisted.

“You said a Nightmare Curse, Severus?” Professor Sinistra tutted.

“Yes, it was a brutal spell. I’ve never seen Miss Parkinson exhibit that level of skill in class; it’s a shame. Madam Pomfrey had prepared a draught to help ease Miss Greengrass’s visions, but it was necessary for me to do additional work on her. I’m sure you could have done a better job,” Professor Snape said.

“Not necessarily. Astoria, is there anything I can do? I can send Winky for some food.”

“That’s very kind of you, Professor, but I’m hoping I can leave here soon…”

“You’re staying the night, young lady,” Madam Pomfrey said. “I’m not taking any chances of that hex reactivating once you go to sleep.”

“…Oh. Well, then perhaps some barley soup, please, Winky. I already have a drink here.”

Once Astoria was set up with her soup, the professors left. Hestia and Flora, who had wearied from being in the Hospital Wing for so long, determined that Astoria was in good hands, and bid her goodnight.

“I’ll be down later when I’m kicked out,” Rhiannon told the twins, motioning to where Malfoy was awkwardly reading a book by the lamp.

The twins looked over at the same time, surprised at his presence. Everyone had forgotten he was there except Rhiannon and Astoria; he had kept so quiet the whole time. The Hospital Wing was empty, boring, and cold when the twins left. It wasn’t like Malfoy to be quiet or to wait so patiently to hold a conversation. Something was definitely going on with his feelings for her.

“This isn’t like you, Draco,” Astoria took the words out of Rhiannon’s mouth at first, but added, “You’ve been shy.”

Malfoy looked at Astoria quickly, as if she had sounded an alarm. He lost the page in the book he had brought and scanned it unsuccessfully, ultimately putting it back in his bag. He was on edge as he moved his chair closer, and glanced at Rhiannon.

“I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries,” he said plainly, and waited for a response.

Rhiannon was keeping silent as she tried to study the dynamic between them. It _was_ different than before… but before when? What was she comparing this to? Had there really been more going on between them than she knew about? Astoria was looking down and playing with her fingers.

“She got me back, I suppose. I did take her hair off last year. You gave me detention.”

“No, this was way above the jinx you used, and you know that. You don’t have to try to make light of it, Astoria. What she did was awful. I’m very sorry this happened to you. She’s out of school for a month, though. She’ll be over it by the time she’s back,” said Malfoy.

“Over it? You don’t know her very well, after all,” Astoria said, wringing her hands. “You didn’t see the nightmares she gave me. I’m not going to take up your night or Rhiannon’s telling you about them, though.”

“I don’t mind. I’m here if you need to talk about it,” Malfoy said, beating Rhiannon to it and leaving a bad taste in her mouth.

“Same here, Astoria,” Rhiannon peeped.

“Thank you both. I am very tired, though. I think what bothers me now is what Madam Pomfrey said about the curse coming back. It is going to make it hard to fall asleep.”

“Hestia has stuff for that, but I wouldn’t trust it yet,” said Rhiannon. “She’s trying to perfect it for Flora’s insomnia since Flora’s starting to tolerate the other stuff.”

“I’ll fall asleep eventually. I have Transfiguration first thing in the morning. Of all the classes… I bet Parkinson timed that on purpose, too…”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Rhiannon said. “Listen, if you can’t come to Transfiguration whether it’s because you’re still not better or because you just don’t feel like it, I’ll get all the notes and homework for you.”

“How has Transfiguration been for you, by the way?” Malfoy asked.

“It’s better,” said Astoria. “I think I’ll pass the O.W.L., but it might not be with the flying colours I want.”

“I am busy, but I might be able to do something this Wednesday, at least.”

Astoria flipped her spoon around in her empty soup bowl and started whispering below Madam Pomfrey’s detection.

“Wednesdays are now full for me. I am learning Legilimency. Did I tell you that?”

“Oh. You mean more than the… that book?”

“I’m getting very good at it,” she said, leaning back proudly, causing Malfoy to lean forward in curiosity.

“Be careful. If you get too close, I’ll read your mind,” Astoria said.

Rhiannon realised Astoria was joking, and Malfoy falling for it was very amusing. However, she did not like the way they were speaking with each other. Astoria’s crush could rekindle if Malfoy kept playing the loyal friend like this.

“What number am I thinking of then?” he asked.

“You’re not thinking of a number.”

“Seriously! All right, how about now?”

“Two.”

“…How did you know?” he asked worriedly.

“I told you I was good.”

His tone shifted completely to one of distress, and he said, “I thought my Occlumency was strong enough.”

“Oh, it is! I’m cold-reading you,” Astoria laughed. “I knew that the first time you would try to trick me. The second time, I guessed two because it’s the second of February. Probability, Draco.”

“Ah, you had me there.”

She still had him. Without him realising it, he was mirroring her posture. His eyes followed her face in that gooey, smitten way. Rhiannon was lost in the froth of his affection for her; it was making the cool room’s air stuffy. Didn’t he know his dad was a Death Eater? How could he even think he had a chance with this girl? She was Astoria Nesrine Greengrass. She was so high-class, Rhiannon still didn’t know how to pronounce her middle name. So what if he had helped her with Transfiguration before? That wasn’t exactly a candlelight dinner! And neither was this. Rhiannon wanted to remind Malfoy she was still there, staying up equally late as him.

“Where you been lately, Malfoy? It’s hard to keep up with all your adventures. Gate-crashing Slughorn’s party, dumping Parkinson, skipping Quidditch. Haven’t seen you doing too many Prefect things. You might have to pull the weight now that Parkinson’s decommissioned.”

To keep Astoria ignorant of their hostility, both Rhiannon and Malfoy played their intonations lightly, teasingly. But the words were there. Their eyes were locked. Both of them wanted Astoria alone, without the other.

“It’s hard to manage N.E.W.T.-level classes. You might find that out one day. The angels from your class, of course, make for fine Prefects anyway, so they help out. You could appeal to replace Pansy, if you’re so interested. A special case. Or wait, you’d wanted to announce for Quidditch after Urquhart didn’t take you as Keeper, I recall. Too bad they don’t let too many Slytherins near the megaphone. Should have been in another House.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad. If I can’t get near the megaphone, I’m still on the wireless. The music part. Not, you know, the _news_.”

“I’m still exhausted,” Astoria interrupted them, catching on to the fight. “I don’t want to be rude, but you two should probably go back. Use different corridors if you have to.”

“I’ll get your Transfiguration notes, Astoria. I hope you feel better,” Rhiannon said.

“I might be there. Thank you, Rhi. Goodnight.”

Rhiannon left the Hospital Wing first so she could hear what Malfoy would dare to say to her friend. Behind the double doors, Rhiannon stood and listened carefully to what he said.

“I haven’t been sleeping well, either. And I never sleep well in here. This has actually helped me fall asleep more reliably than any other method, so you can have it. It’s a compendium for potions ingredients. Counting sheep and calming spells have nothing on the bore that this book is, let me tell you.”

“I see you’ve made it to page… eight,” Astoria chuckled. “Is this for N.E.W.T. Potions?”

“No, honestly, it’s to fall asleep. That’s the sole reason I rented it.”

“No kidding! Well, thank you. I’ll use it wisely. Oh, and Draco?”

“Yes?”

Rhiannon tiptoed several steps away, since his arrival would be soon.

“Thank you for coming. You really have me worried sometimes.”

“ _I_ have me worried sometimes. Er, maybe we could meet up before Astronomy this week. If you want.”

“Sure.”

“Goodnight. Get well soon and all that.”

“I’m working on it.”

Rhiannon put a Silencing Charm on her shoes and dashed forward as fast as she could so she would look realistically far away from the Hospital Wing. The light from the opening door wasn’t close to catching her. She slowed down. She and Malfoy never made any effort to speak the whole way back to the common room. She let the door close behind her when she got there first. Idiot knew the password.


	16. Valentine's Stuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 40th birthday, Malfoy! For your present, we'll have a look at the beginning of your relationship with Astoria through the lens of her 2 gay friends. What better present than THIS? Lmao this chapter was so fun to write. Hint hint... drastoria will be in full swing in chapter 17 ♥
> 
> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my [playlist is located here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy)
> 
> Chapter 16 - "Tongue Tied" by Shura

Astoria had shown up to class the morning after the attack, probably to prove some sort of point. Flora had been very efficient in spreading the tale of Parkinson’s cruelty across the House, and there were few who truly lamented the bully’s absence, save for Rhiannon’s old roommates, who had always seen Parkinson as a role model. Tracey Davis had been appointed Prefect after Parkinson’s dismissal (she should have been chosen in the first place). The story of Parkinson’s downfall had reached Gryffindor, too, though it wasn’t necessarily because of Flora. Gryffindors always paid attention when something went wrong in the House of Slytherin.

“I would have liked to have seen you get back at her,” Ginevra Weasley said to Astoria in double Potions.

“I would have liked to,” Astoria said, sprinkling in some of the optional Echinacea leaves into that day’s medicinal. Rhiannon had skipped that step; she didn’t take many tips from Slughorn.

“How long is she gone for?” Ginny asked.

“A month. It’s not near long enough,” Rhiannon said.

“Oh. Would you like some Echinacea, Rhiannon?” Ginny offered. “I grabbed a bunch, but there’s none left in the drawer now.”

Rhiannon accepted the offer just to be polite. She wasn’t a fan of Slughorn because he had one of those fake personalities, but at least she could talk during Potions class now. It made sense not to talk in lecture-style classes, but Potions involved a lot of moving about and standing, and Snape had always kept them quiet. The Slytherins had always done pretty good in Potions, but Rhiannon knew the class as a whole was getting better now that students could give one another tips and feedback. Hestia, in particular, was flourishing. Unlike her approach towards Slughorn’s recipes, Rhiannon listened to Hestia about anything and everything that should go into the brews. Sometimes Hestia misjudged, and their cauldrons exploded, but that’s what made it fun.

The whole fiasco with Parkinson and Astoria had subverted Rhiannon’s plans to ask Hestia out. Every minute that had gone by since Rhiannon’s initial rush of confidence had eaten at her nerves. Now, the more she thought about it, the harder it became. This girl was above her academically, socially, and emotionally, it seemed. Hestia had the fortitude to grin and bear it as her aunt and uncle robbed all of her earnings from Pariah. She didn’t have the advantage of escaping her abusive environment like Rhiannon had in living with Astoria. Hestia wasn’t as inclined to seek revenge as Rhiannon was; she always went on with her life no matter what it threw at her. Whenever Rhiannon ran into trouble, she had a tendency to ignite. How many breakdowns had she had in front of Astoria? Rhiannon was thankful that Hestia hadn’t seen half of the side Astoria had. But it was definitely there. If Rhiannon wanted a grown-up relationship, she was going to have to have better control over her emotions. She would do it for Hestia if she could. Both of them had a lot of pain beneath the shell. Rhiannon thought it was important to support each other, but she didn’t want Hestia to think that she had “fix” her. It made her nervous and self-conscious that she might be too damaged to provide the relationship Hestia deserved.

Astoria came over and compared her medicinal with Rhiannon’s. Apparently impressed, Astoria turned up the flame to Rhiannon’s level. Then she put a hand on Rhiannon’s shoulder with no explanation.

“Are you reading my mind or what?” Rhiannon whispered.

“No. I always know when something’s bothering you,” Astoria said even quieter.

It seemed stupid to bring it up now, especially with the effort it took to stay out of Hestia’s earshot, but she needed to get it off her chest, and the next class, Herbology, was in too close quarters. Rhiannon had to wait until Sofronia Kippling finally gave up trying to help Astoria dig the slippery Man-Shik Mystifiers out of the bottom of her pot.

“I was thinking I’m not good enough to start, er, something real with… yeah. Like me and people don’t work, and I shut them out,” Rhiannon said.

Astoria shook her head seriously and tapped a finger on her heart.

“That’s what matters.”

The abbreviated message was still enough to get through to Rhiannon. Later, Rhiannon took up copies of the final setlists to the Owlery and invited Hestia to come with her. Flora and Astoria were in Arithmancy, and it was a pleasant walk with Hestia. The sun was shining. It wasn’t doing much to help with the cold, but it made things cheerful, at least.

“I’m really excited for the broadcast next month,” Hestia said as they watched the owl fly off towards Hogsmeade.

“Me too. It’s been too long. It’s great how things are getting serious now with the band. Three concerts lined up and everything! Of course, we have the O.W.L.s…”

“Ugh, screw the O.W.L.s, mate.”

“Right?”

“We meet with Snape for advising after Easter?”

“Yup.”

“What do you want to do, Rhi?”

“Can’t play Quidditch, can’t be an Auror,” Rhiannon had finally accepted. “I can play music.”

“Yeah, I want to stay with Pariah too, but we can’t tell Snape that. I’d like to continue with Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, and Potions. I’ll do D.A.D.A. if I can get in. And N.E.W.T. Muggle Studies if you do.”

“That sounds good, actually. That sounds like what I wanted to try.”

“You’re not going for Astronomy, either?”

“Ha! Don’t tell Astoria.”

“I won’t. Erm, I wanted to say… I don’t want you to think I’m still jealous or anything. I understand you two are best friends. I’m sort of complimented that she had nightmares about me getting hurt! Oh. That really does sound mean. It’s just we don’t get on all the time, me and her.”

“We’ve all four of us had bad times. She cares about you, though,” Rhiannon said.

“Sometimes I really didn’t like her. I really didn’t like her when you liked her… but that’s because… yeah. What I mean is,” Hestia stressed, trying to put her feelings into words that didn’t sound rude, “she’s so different. I mean, even yesterday, with the crying and the hugging. I’ve never met somebody who hugs that much. If we ever cried at my house, we’d get smacked. My aunt and uncle defined my whole damn childhood. I don’t even know how life would have been otherwise. Good, I imagine. Pretty good.”

Rhiannon realised that Hestia had lied to her in the past about the abuse she had faced. Her skin crawled with thoughts of a small Hestia getting beaten by Death Eaters. But that was how they had been reared; you can’t talk about it. You feel you have to lie, even to your friends.

“Astoria doesn’t always get it,” Rhiannon said.

“No, it’s not her reality. It’s not like I wish it on her. But she’s like, from a different world.”

“It’s odd you bring that up, because I was thinking about how our backgrounds are all so different today. I was thinking I, erm, with me being Muggle-born…”

“The war’s getting to your head, too?”

“I guess.”

“Rhiannon?”

“Hm?”

“Can we kiss?”

“What?”

“What? Sorry.” Hestia sputtered.

“No… I mean… Yeah! I mean, sure! I didn’t… ” Rhiannon said. “I’m gonna shut up now.”

Wow. Hestia specifically requested it. Rhiannon tried to make it work really well. She slid her arm round Hestia’s waist. She turned her cheek with her other hand. She tried to be cool and impressive. It felt so good to hold Hestia that way. It felt so right to hold her still and plant kiss by kiss on her lips. Hestia had on some pretty thick lipstick, so she probably wasn’t planning on getting kissed today. It had been a wonderful whim. That was all right –– they could share the lipstick. Everything was good. Hestia stopped kissing side-by-side and grabbed Rhiannon properly, toe to toe. Hestia really knew how to hold a woman. She hadn’t learnt it; she just knew it. And here, Rhiannon had almost forgotten. Under the arms? Waist and hips? Did Hestia even have a preference?

Hestia always smelt like the potions room or the concoctions she tried to make in their tub. It made for a musky perfume. Rhiannon wanted to take a bath in it. She went deep behind her hair and kissed her neck. Hestia held her there to do the dirty work.

“Those Auror hall monitors are gonna arrest us,” Rhiannon muttered against Hestia’s skin.

“Let them.”

~

“Valentine’s Day has become completely commercial,” said Hestia at breakfast on the day in question.

“Oh, like you even know what the ‘true meaning’ of Valentine’s Day is,” Flora joked.

Rhiannon and Hestia played with each other’s hands from across the table. They had developed a handshake that was purposefully difficult to remember. In fact, Rhiannon didn’t think they had done it properly once since they created it. (The whole point was to tease each other about doing it wrong and to hold hands).

They did enjoy the commercial aspect of Valentine’s Day because it meant they got plenty of sweets. Hestia had presented Rhiannon with a whole bouquet of chocolate-covered fruits at breakfast, and Rhiannon had catalogue-ordered a magical box of chocolates for Hestia. It dispensed one chocolate at a time, and she had to use her wand to guide it through a maze before it would come out. She could change the type of chocolate by guiding the piece to any dead end in the maze labelled with things like “peanut butter” and “caramel.” The chocolates, of course, were the appetisers to the real gifts. Hestia got her hands on the twentieth anniversary edition of the Hobgoblin’s _Capital City_ album for Rhiannon. It was a real head thrasher and one of Rhiannon’s favourite albums of all time, so she took a moment to become verbal again. It had been hard for Rhiannon to pick out something perfect without having a Hogsmeade trip, so she had handmade Hestia an empty cookbook that she could organise all of her potions ideas in. Rhiannon put a design on each page and scattered comments throughout. On the front of the first love potions page, she drew a huge smiley face and wrote “You don’t really need love potions. I can’t get any gayer.” On the second, she wrote the lamest recipe she could think of:

** Ingredients **

**102 kilos of girlfriend (with nose)**

**2 hands**

**1 nose (your own)**

** Instructions **

**1) Place girlfriend face forward**

**2) Place 2 hands on face of girlfriend**

**3) Using own nose, poke the nose of the girlfriend to achieve nose equilibrium**

It was one of those things you couldn’t show anybody else, because it would be too much for them to understand. They’d take it too seriously or say it was weird. Hestia understood it perfectly, though, and they were achieving nose equilibrium in no time without a care in the world. It was so great to only have two classes on Friday. It was so great to have Valentine’s Day on a Friday. Hestia was, _ugh_ , she was so great…!

“I want a party,” she said to Rhiannon. “And I know how to get it. Oi, Astoria! You busy?”

 _Look at Astoria_ , _doing Charms homework on Valentine’s Day_. _Go out and get the other kind of charms, woman!_

“I don’t have to be busy,” Astoria said.

Rhiannon and Hestia nodded at each other.

“Good! This is a big favour with a big payoff. Go ask Professor Sinistra if she’ll lend you Winky to make us some snacks,” Hestia said.

Hestia was being so outgoing, and it was making Rhiannon’s heart flutter. She hadn’t had genuine, light-hearted fun at school in a long time. Astoria was looking at Hestia, trying to figure out what she had in mind, but she didn’t even say a word before she left with a smile.

“We need music,” said Rhiannon.

“I’ll get Montel. He’ll bring music and people. And people with music.”

“How do you know he’s in his room?”

“He’s been cooping himself up in there swotting for the O.W.L.s. Poor bloke needs a break. Rhiannon, you’re on lights.”

“There’s people still studying over there.”

“They know where the ruddy library is.”

“I like the way you think.”

Hestia winked. Rhiannon had been trained in etiquette thanks to Astoria and did end up walking over to the other students to warn them. Manami Ichijō was helping Alexa Crover, Sebastian Daley, and Curtis Evercreech with D.A.D.A. homework. Behind them, a pair of sixth years was staring blankly at their books, hoping to absorb something.

“We’re throwing a party soon. You oughtta go to the library. ’Course, we’d rather have you here. Only reason not to stay would be if the food doesn’t come.”

“A break sounds like a good idea. What do you think?” Manami said to her group, and they did not protest.

The sixth-years shut their books very fast. Rhiannon changed the colour of the flames in the room’s lanterns to pink, but laughed at herself when she realised she needed to change the glass the flames were in from green if she wanted there to be any difference. Red for Valentine’s Day wasn’t going to do (that looked way too much like a Gryffindor party), so all shades of pink were the alternatives. It was amazing how much warmer the common room looked.

“You lot want to help me make disco balls?”

Rhiannon and Manami’s group crumpled up loose parchment into fist-sized balls, and set them aglow with a very simple glitter charm that was usually used in crafts rather than lighting. It would take a myriad of these lights to make a difference, so Rhiannon enlisted the more aloof sixth-years to help. Hestia, Montel, and his friends joined in, too, and the good news was they had brought about 75 cassettes with them. Rhiannon was amused at the selection of Wizarding pop, dance, and hip-hop music. There might not have been any Spice Girls, but it would still be a party somehow. The group had about eighty floating disco balls near the ceiling by the time Astoria walked in, and her mouth dropped open at how pretty it was. The glittery luminescence from the lights was even better thanks to the huge window to the lake that only the Slytherins had. Rhiannon used to think it made it gloomy, but really, there were enough windows in the castle that looked out to the grounds. Their window was unique.

Astoria brought three desks together, and once she had it arranged, a decent selection of snacks and refreshments appeared.

“Did Sinistra give you any trouble?”

“Get this! She gave me one of her Legilimency glares, since she thinks she can do that any time now. So, I simply asked her what she wanted to know, and she gave me this dumbfounded look. Then she said, ‘I’m so sorry! I keep forgetting you can’t find a wavelength yet!’ and asked me what kind of food we wanted!” Astoria described.

“Wavelength? Does that mean, er, back-and-forth Legilimency?” Rhiannon guessed. “I think I’ve seen her and Snape do that sometimes. It’s uncomfortable to watch.”

“I assume… Can you imagine how much easier our lives would have been if we could transmit our thoughts back and forth with no one listening?”

“Basically all of last year would have been resolved. Pff! You’ve got to get me in on this someday. Maybe that way we won’t end up with, er, whatever this is…” Rhiannon said, looking at a plate Winky had delivered.

“That’s tarte Tatin. It’s a Muggle dessert.”

“What are these slug things on it?”

“ _Pear slices_ , Rhi. I didn’t tell Winky to make it pretty, or she’d get nervous and cry.”

“Poor thing. Well, the rest looks delicious! Now, we need more people to eat it.”

“Do we really?” Alexa Crover said. “I could eat this all myself.”

“I don’t even know where Flora’s gone,” said Hestia. “But once we start the music, people will come out of their dens.”

Astoria volunteered to deejay, which was nice because she was the only person that everybody trusted with their cassettes. Rhiannon was a bit worried that Astoria had no knowledge of the albums in her hands. She was extremely surprised to find that not only was Astoria literate, she was already wand-writing temporary tick marks on the cassettes to make note of which songs to play based on the mood. She opened with a simple pop ballad, but then had Rhiannon kill the main light and started blasting the kinds of songs that made dances start. Rhiannon and Hestia finally had their party going, and bounced all over the cleared area. Somebody, Rhiannon didn’t know who, had eventually found Flora even though this wasn’t her sort of thing. The music was loud, and room was filling up.

“I think a few Hufflepuffs got smuggled in here from the basement!” Hestia said over the music later.

“The Hufflepuff trade is getting vicious!” Rhiannon said back.

“You never changed out of your uniform!” Hestia said before loosening Rhiannon’s tie.

“You like that sloppy tie look?”

“On you, yeah!”

Rhiannon loved how hard it was for Hestia to keep her hands off of her. They scurried off to the girls’ dorm hall, snogged for… well, Rhiannon wasn’t sure how long because everything was fuzzy and giggly with Hestia. Then they got hungry, went back to the common room, and tried to feed each other that tarte-whatever. Hestia dropped a pear slice and left it there so someone would think it was a slug.

“Ooh, make it crawl!” Rhiannon suggested, so Hestia cast the spell.

Both of them felt a bit guilty about the pear because the next song Astoria had was for slow-dancing, but the slimy, crawling fruit was already lost in the crowd. Someone would be in for a surprise soon. Rhiannon wrapped Hestia up close, and they started dancing by the window. The beauty of this party was that most people had not got ready for it and had simply wandered down to see what was happening. No one was dressed up or anything, and Hestia’s shirt in particular was soft and comfy. Even though they were at a party, everything about her was perfect for cuddling. She was beautiful and so relaxed.

“So, I heard you used to waltz,” Hestia hummed.

“Heck if I can remember how to do that! Let’s see…”

It wasn’t anything like Astoria had taught her for the ball last year, but it was fancy enough to impress Hestia, who tried to keep up. Whatever sort of waltz it was supposed to be, they made it more fun. Somebody who sounded a lot like Daphne yelped because of the crawling pear during the next slow song, and the girls sniggered in secret.

“Oh, who sent the confetti round?” Rhiannon asked as red and pink confetti pieces started fluttering through the dance crowd in preparation for the next upbeat bop.

“I think Astoria and Flora are doing that from the table. I’m surprised Astoria’s confetti isn’t exploding. She must be getting better at conjuring.”

“Conjuring _confetti_ , maybe. It’s cool, though!”

Rhiannon and Hestia were both tired after that dance and found a seat by the empty hearth. Rhiannon was glad somebody thought to put out the fire there before it got too hot and crowded. Hestia leaned her head on Rhiannon’s shoulder.

“So… you can’t do this in public in the Muggle world?”

“Depends who’s in the vicinity,” Rhiannon said, and gratefully kissed the top Hestia’s head. “I think it’ll be better one day for people like us. Maybe. Us here right now, though… you’re a pureblood and I’m not. There’s still that.”

“I guess we were destined to make people uncomfortable. But it’s all right.”

“Yeah, I don’t mind.”

“Thank you for being my girlfriend, Rhi.”

“Ha! You too, Hestia.”

“I used to be so shy before you. But I always thought you were the best. The way you didn’t care what other people thought. I thought, ‘I want to be like her.’ Then I thought, ‘I want to be _with_ her.’ Now here we are.”

“Here we are.”

Rhiannon Summoned some fizzy drinks for them over everyone’s heads, and they enjoyed watching everybody’s bad dancing and aimless jumping. Before Hestia finished her drink, a bit of confetti accidentally fell into her cup. She gave herself a small smack on the forehead.

“I should take over deejaying so Astoria can go have fun! This was my idea!” Hestia said. “She’s been there for hours. Want to come with me?”

“Sure. I don’t know if I can do that good of a job, though.”

Hestia and Rhiannon stayed close to the wall to get to Astoria, who was still sitting with Flora. She declined their offer to take over, saying that she and Flora were having a plenty good time.

“Besides, if Professor Snape figures out there’s a party, you two won’t know how to deal with him. Astoria and I have everything under control,” said Flora.

Rhiannon and Hestia went back to the crowd, enjoying a catchy hit by Maia Lacey.

“Can I teach you the Macarena, Hestia?”

“Is that Muggle for… macaroni? No, macaroons? Macadamia.”

“It’s somebody’s name.”

“…I guess I’m still hungry.”

“My friend P.R. says you can do the Macarena to anything,” Rhiannon said, showcasing the dance as Hestia slowly caught on with the beat.

“Is this it?”

“Yeah! Twenty years from now, everyone needs to remember that I’m the one who brought the Macarena to the Slytherin common room.”

“Are you sure you want credit for… _that_?” Flora called.

“Come join us!” Hestia insisted, but Flora didn’t play along until Montel, Horatio Pershore, and Heather Thatcham came over to try to figure it out.

“You all look ridiculous!” Astoria laughed.

“ _No good deejay says that to people_!” Rhiannon yelled, shaking her hips.

The party didn’t die down until after eleven o’clock, likely on account of Winky constantly restocking the food. Draco Malfoy had crept in late, stuck to the wall like an insect, and went straight for the refreshments.

“There’s Malfoy,” Hestia pointed out, though his hair always made it easy to see him.

“Aw, it was a good party, too,” Rhiannon moaned.

“Wait till he notices who’s on music… oh! Oh! He sees her! Did you see him do that double-take? What a der-brain!”

“I wonder where he’s been. Haven’t you noticed he’s hiding out this year? Not that I _want_ to see him, but where does he go? What does he do?”

“Probably has been in detention with McGonagall,” Hestia surmised, but that didn’t quite cover it.

“He’s so weird now, too. He’s not strutting everywhere. He’s hiding something, like.”

“Well, he’s not hiding this. There he goes to talk to Astoria. Ugh, she’s too damn nice. Stop being so nice, girl!”

“What’re they saying?” Rhiannon asked, trying to see them in the dark.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to cast anything that will draw his attention. I wish he’d ask her on a date already so she can say no to his stupid face,” Hestia grumbled.

Rhiannon watched Malfoy lean forward and pretend he couldn’t hear Astoria. Rhiannon was sure he had heard her fine and just wanted in her face. He also wanted her somewhere alone. His little trick worked, and Astoria momentarily left Flora in charge whilst they went off to a corner. Rhiannon could see them better then. Astoria, having been in this environment all evening, was happy and talkative. She was gesturing all over in her usual grace, but then she was obviously trying to explain the Macarena to him and lost her poise. She only made it halfway through the dance before she started laughing. Then he started laughing.

 _Gross_. _Stop laughing_.

After that, Malfoy hung by the walls, sipping a butterbeer and watching the diminishing crowd. Daphne and her roommate Heather had been the Hufflepuff smugglers; they saw them to the door and gave them directions of how to get to Professor Snape’s office, from where they would be able to recognise their way back up.

“I don’t even know how to get upstairs from Snape’s office anymore. I follow you three!” Hestia admitted.

“Oh, brother,” Rhiannon said, kissing her ear.

A bit later, Astoria started giving the cassettes back to their owners. Rhiannon didn’t like it when there wasn’t music and put on her new Hobgoblins album at a polite sort of volume. Astoria was left with a small pile of cassettes from people who left early and knew she’d get them back to them. Too bad they didn’t lend them to Rhiannon, since she’d have listened to them first. Manami and Horatio, the prefects, told Rhiannon it had been a nice party, which felt sort of validating. She said it had been Hestia’s idea and thanked them for letting it happen. It was much getting easier to hear everybody now, and Rhiannon and Hestia sat back casually. It wasn’t eavesdropping to snoop on Astoria, they decided; it was observing what was public.

“So what was all this?” Malfoy asked Astoria stupidly.

“It was a going away party for Parkinson… _Oops_! How terrible –– we’ve neglected to invite her!” said Astoria with her hands on her cheeks.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, and Rhiannon and Hestia rolled their eyes at each other.

“ _Ooooh, look at me be the big man and ask how she is_ ,” Hestia mocked. “God, I can smell his cologne from here.”

It was actually Curtis Evercreech’s cologne from behind them (he was helping clean up, unlike they were), but Rhiannon didn’t bother to say. Malfoy tailed Astoria to the refreshments table, where she announced to the remaining attendees to take what they wanted. After a few more snacks and drinks were taken, Astoria folded up the napkins a certain way to signal to Winky to take the leftovers. It was gone instantly, but the house-elf somehow missed the goblet that was still in Malfoy’s hand. Rhiannon could no longer hear the pair, nor was Flora in range to scout any longer. Malfoy said something to Astoria that made her shrug and play with her bracelets. Then they drew their wands to clean the floor of confetti, talking back and forth about something that required a lot of thought, because Astoria scrubbed down a chair with soap accidentally.

“Did he do it? Did he ask her?” Hestia asked eagerly.

She had much more confidence in Astoria’s motivation to reject him than Rhiannon did. At least, at first.

“That’s a right clean chair,” Hestia said when Astoria shook her head frivolously and had to spend an extra few minutes drying it. “You don’t think she’s really flustered about Malfoy, do you?”

“Er…”

Malfoy, much more himself, had started wand-writing something in huge red letters on the ceiling. Rhiannon and Hestia both craned their necks to see what it was.

**ASTORIA IS…**

Astoria had dove on him and was trying to get his wand from his hands.

 _Use the Disarming Charm_ , Rhiannon thought, and she grumbled when she realised the Disarming Charm was not going to provide the physical contact that this method did. It was that much more obvious amongst wizards. A few clusters of red scribbles filled the space above as Astoria gained the upper hand, but then it said:-

**ASTORIA IS A…**

Rhiannon was tired of watching this, but she couldn’t look away. She did what she thought was best to discourage her friend in a nice way, so she got up and added to what was already written above them.

**ASTORIA IS ALREADY UP PAST BEDTIME.**

Malfoy was the one who pointed out Rhiannon’s writing to Astoria. Rhiannon hated the way he looked down at her. Any other time he was talking to somebody shorter, he looked down with only his eyes, past the bridge of his nose, like a judgement. Yet the whole of him seemed to bow to Astoria. The exceptionality of his behaviour, and his fake attitude change in her presence, made it wrong. Like bait on a hook.

It had been such a fun party. It really had. Even though Rhiannon had had a few butterbeers and a nice helping of cuddles from Hestia, she still couldn’t sleep. Astoria had saved Rhiannon some of the guessing and had admitted that she had once fancied Draco Malfoy. The problem was that there was some break in communication. There was no way on earth Astoria would take interest in the likes of Malfoy if there had not been more going on than a crush. Astoria wasn’t telling her about these precious little moments of theirs. She had been keeping these things from her best friend because she was ashamed. Rhiannon took her role of best friend very seriously and wanted to be told everything. Rhiannon told Astoria everything. At least she tried to.

Astoria got up to use the bathroom at half past two.

“Astoria?”

“Mm, did I wake you with the light?” Astoria whispered, crawling back in bed. “I’m sorry.”

“What was you and Malfoy talking about at the party?”

“Wha?”

“Er, hello? The Valentine’s party.”

“Oh. Valentine’s stuff, I guess.”

There wasn’t any hour the next day that would have counted as “sleeping in,” but Rhiannon pushed forward and rehearsed with the band for their upcoming radio gig. They had a thirty-minute slot on Ms Chittock’s show, which amounted to seven songs and some talking. Up in the music room, the girls knew they had strong performances ready but were at a total loss of what to say if they were interviewed. The label never invested much in them, considering them something of a Greengrass-sponsored side-project, so it wasn’t like they had had media training.

“Last time, she asked us some deep questions. I don’t really want to talk about those things with the war going on,” said Flora.

“I don’t either,” said Rhiannon. “People already know what us and our music’s about.”

Astoria, who was trying to make tea with only leaves and her wand’s capabilities, had an interesting suggestion:-

“Try not to think so loud about what the songs mean and she won’t get inspired to ask. Ms Chittock is half-vampire, and vampires are almost naturals at Legilimency. If we’re not thinking about anything in particular, we might not catch her attention. That’s what makes her such a good interviewer. She knows what people already have ideas about.”

“Try not to _think_ so loud?” Hestia asked, and Astoria smiled cleverly.

“Legilimens aren’t in tune with the environment at all times, but because stress and passion are often easy to sense for non-Legilimens, the emotions are very prominent to those who are trained. That’s why Occlumency is so difficult; it involves dampening the strongest reactions that are not only mental, but physical. Outward expressions may catch a Legilimens’s attention and lead to further investigation, intentional or not. So, I don’t want you to think I’m speaking ill of Ms Chittock. She isn’t necessarily prying; there is no big sign that tells her when she’s figuring something out through regular means or when she crosses into Legilimency.”

Astoria had put the right amount of water in her cup and had heated it to the right temperature according to the pleased look on her face when she drank her tea. It might not seem like much, but Rhiannon was happy to see Astoria tame her wand and put her worries behind her. A nice cup of tea wasn’t an Outstanding on the Charms O.W.L., but it was always good to see a step in the right direction. If only Astoria had more direction with her love life. Too bad she couldn’t date Flora.

“What are you gawking at?” Flora asked Rhiannon in no time.

“Yeah, I’m the cuter twin,” Hestia beamed.

“Only because she gets it from me,” Flora grinned, making perfectly no sense.


	17. Pepperup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) is located here.
> 
> Chapter 17 - "Bad Ideas" by Tessa Violet
> 
> \--  
> cw for Draco's grandparents' teen pregnancies being mentioned

Astoria had never been a fan of Pepperup Potion. The steam that came out of her ears whenever she took it was hot and uncomfortable, and sometimes it even whistled. Head colds were miserable, but so was the steam. Yet Astoria had a performance on the wireless that afternoon, and her throat was scratchy and in pain. She was supposed to have met with Draco, but since the Hogsmeade trip had been cancelled, the steam wouldn’t matter. She still had to go perform at the Wizarding Wireless Network building with Pariah, but not many people would see her. So, she took the Pepperup Potion.

The WWN building was stuffy that day, which wouldn’t make for the best performance experience. This performance was much earlier than their gig on the Witching Hour had been last year. At least it wasn’t in front of an audience; Astoria could remain relaxed and not have to jump and strut all over. Ms Chittock found the steam coming from her ears very amusing when she saw it, saying that she was lucky to have never had a cold. There was no way Pariah would get away with not playing all the songs from their new EP, but apart from “Guest Soap,” they saved them for last. They had heard too much of their own music lately and needed to get into the mood to perform first. They opened with “Saccharine,” followed by “Ivy,” because Hestia, proud of her composition, said it was a must. This time, Ms Chittock simply enjoyed the performance and did not ask them personal questions. It might have been due to the war. One never knew who was tuning in.

Each time Astoria took a drink of her water, the steam from the Pepperup came out faster, but she could not neglect to drink after singing so much. She finished her water before “Ashes” in the midst of a commercial break, during which other musicians from In.fine.it. set up their equipment for the symphonic song. Astoria didn’t know any of these musicians; Pariah had brought down students from their old Music class for recording the EP and had planned to have them at all live performances. It didn’t work out that way. These strangers were much older than they were; Astoria doubted they would give the song that much care. In fact, the only reason they could play the song was because they had been given the sheet music from the label. Astoria didn’t look at them much, even though her manners called for it. They probably thought she was a stupid kid with a cold, but she had always liked proving people wrong. The phrase “even better live” was reserved by the papers for the most experienced of performers and was such a hard goal to achieve. Astoria had come far in music, but she knew that Mr Davis’s mixing and production helped the songs stay crisp. She was on her own here, and had to be confident. Like Rhiannon had said, “don’t write songs you can’t sing.”

It was time for the last song. The band began to play. Before she sang, Astoria thought of the hallways in her estate with the proudly displayed wedding portraits. There wasn’t a pair in her family’s history that had not been welcomed onto that wall. Supposedly.

_My coronation has gone all wrong_

_The air of my kingdom shifts_

_I wandered to the sea_

_I wasn’t always like this_

_My name once meant something_

_My name once meant something holy to me_

_I wear my heart on my sleeve_

_She wears all your jewels_

_I live in cinders, love in shadow_

_My kingdom burns under my rule_

_And what do I have to show?_

_Ashes, ashes, I_

_Ashes, I’ve awakened_

_Ashes, ashes, I_

_Ashes, I’m forsaken_

_I’ve been fending for myself_

_In the dust of my common sense_

_You’ll enjoy my lack of it_

_At your throne’s expense_

_Your name once meant something_

_Your name once meant something holy to you_

_Her eyes will lock on you_

_And only glow for gold_

_I once had a claim to this land_

_Before my heart grew cold_

_Only to burn up in your hands_

_Ashes, ashes, I_

_Ashes, I’ve awakened_

_Ashes, ashes, I_

_Ashes, I’m forsaken_

_Ashes, ashes, I_

_Ashes, I feel this curse_

_Ashes, ashes, I_

_Ashes, I will burn_

_I’ll destroy your coat of arms_

_I somehow can’t get near_

_You, the reason my bridges burned_

_The adrenaline in my fears_

“That was another beautiful performance from Pariah, here on the Wizarding Wireless Network. Pariah’s new EP, _Flare_ , can be purchased at any wizarding record shop, and can be mail-ordered directly from In.fine.it. in Diagon Alley using the promo code HEART, H-E-A-R-T,” Ms Chittock announced. “They will be performing live in Diagon Alley on the fourth of April, opening for Cannibal Coven. Discount tickets can be pre-ordered from the advert in _Weird Witch_ until the fifteenth, after which tickets can be ordered from In.fine.it.’s circular or purchased at the door. We’ll be back shortly with Spellbound; I’m turning it over to Martin Brightmeadow with the weather.”

“She didn’t mention the concert in May,” Hestia whispered.

“She’s only going by what Mongaby told her to say. We have to wait and see how the Diagon Alley performance goes during Easter holidays,” Rhiannon explained, and thanked the additional personnel before they all left the building.

“I’ll have you four know that this is not how I prefer to spend a Saturday,” Professor Snape said as something of a greeting between Hogsmeade and the castle.

As Head of House, he had been responsible for escorting them, since the student body was not allowed to go to Hogsmeade unless there was a formal trip. An exception had been made on account of the girls’ “ _job_ ,” about which Professor Snape had never had high opinions.

“Thanks for making the time for this, sir,” Rhiannon said as though his comment had been a polite one. “I think the show went real well.”

“ _Really_ well.”

“Yeah. Really well. And I’m doing _really_ well in that writing book you gave me.”

“Keep it up,” he said indifferently, but the girls knew he would not have given her that duty if he did not care about her upcoming written O.W.L.s.

Like many Saturdays before, the girls could not agree on where to hang out. Hestia had a penchant for the Clock Tower courtyard no matter the rainy weather, while Flora would have rented the library as a home if she was allowed. Rhiannon and Astoria once agreed on the common room, but Astoria much preferred the Astronomy Library ever since their group had been given passes. Since Astoria had not had her way for some time and there were too many first- and second-years in the common room, the four packed for the journey up Astronomy Tower. Being back in the room motivated Rhiannon to give them a talking-to about Patronuses that the others did not want to hear.

“Come on now, nobody’s done any better since the beginning of the year. It’s better than doing real homework. What if it’s on the D.A.D.A. practical O.W.L.?”

“My depression says no,” Flora brushed off, pulling out her Muggle Studies essay.

“Oh, Flora, let’s try again,” said Hestia. “Maybe we have the same Patronus!”

“No, my Patronus is another dementor. I’m sure of it.”

“Now you’re being over-the-top. Rhiannon, could you show us your Patronus again? It might cheer us up!”

Rhiannon held up a finger whilst she shut her eyes and concentrated. Astoria preferred her not to sit on the desks, but she did not distract her from her positive meditation by telling her to use a chair.

“ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” Rhiannon said.

Astoria admired the greater ease with which Rhiannon had cast it. No, there weren’t any dementors about, but sometimes life was enough to make the charm hard.

“ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” followed Hestia, and what looked like wispy ribbons floated forth from her wand and over the snout of Rhiannon’s wolf.

“Is it gonna be a snake? How boring! That would be like getting a bird if I was in Ravenclaw,” Hestia said.

“I wouldn’t mind having a lion as a Patronus if I was in Gryffindor,” Rhiannon said. “Or an actual griffin. That’d be sick.”

“What do you think the most disappointing Patronus is?” Hestia asked.

“Hmm… a flobberworm,” Rhiannon laughed.

“Disappointing? That would be outright _sad_.”

“ _The Quibbler_ once published a ‘Worst Patronuses’ list,” Rhiannon mentioned. “I kept it in my scrapbook! I’m trying to remember some of the funniest ones… Oh, one was a Puffeskein. I think another was a snail. No flobberworms, though. I bet anyone with a flobberworm would be too embarrassed to even submit to the magazine.”

“Quit saying ‘flobberworm,’ or that’s what I’ll end up with!” Astoria said, trying to get ready to cast one herself.

“There’s no guarantee mine’s not one yet!” Hestia said, watching as the thin wisps dissipated with Rhiannon’s wolf.

“ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” Astoria said, simply trying to recount the good day she and her friends had had.

Sometimes that worked better than picking a single memory, because she was afraid to sanctify any memory too much lest it not make a Patronus. It was such a pain to work with those anxieties. She still had not made a corporeal Patronus, but it was more substantial than in the past. Astoria noticed some sort of curvature at the front of the ghostly form, but nothing else stuck out to her, and she enjoyed the energy for what it was.

“Yours is a snake, too! Yikes, we need to get out more,” Hestia said to Astoria.

“No, no, wait, I thought I saw feathers like!” Rhiannon said, squinting into the Patronus trail.

“Whoa! Maybe it’s an occamy!” Hestia said excitedly.

“It’d be much bigger if it was,” Flora said, finally gaining interest. “Still, a small animal makes an equally powerful Patronus.”

“Aw, size don’t matter after all,” Rhiannon sniggered. “Are you going to give it a go or not, Flora?”

“No, I’m already tired from drumming.”

“There’s no telling you won’t be tired in front of a dementor!” Rhiannon wagged her finger.

“Oh, very well,” said Flora. “ _Expecto Patronum_.”

“Not like that, you silly!” her sister said. “Get happy first! Oi, you two, let’s do the Macadamia for her.”

“That will make it worse,” Flora laughed, pretending to cover her eyes as Rhiannon, Hestia, and Astoria lined up to dance the Macarena in tune with Rhiannon’s humming.

“Alright! Stop it, stop it, I’m going to try… _Expecto Patronum_.”

It more or less looked like Hestia’s, and though there were more flobberworm jokes to be made, Flora looked rather heartened at the sight of its similarity to her sister’s. The twins did not have very many of the little things in common, but Flora was glad to know they were tight deep down. Later, without precedence, she cast another one over Astoria’s Arithmancy homework to be funny, and it had turned out quite well. The ribbonlike form perplexed Astoria, as it had begun to look like a trident.

“Good news, Hestia, I believe what we have is actually going to be a Runespoor,” Flora postulated. “Not too shabby.”

“Oh Flora! Do you remember Dad’s Runespoor from when we were little?”

“Yes, I wanted to give each of its heads a separate name, which is more appropriate than the name you picked.”

“Rusty. I named him Rusty. He loved the name,” Hestia asserted.

At dinnertime, Astoria’s sweet tooth got the better of her, and she opted for hot cocoa instead of her usual pumpkin juice or water. That was a mistake, because the steam from her Pepperup Potion, which had diminished slightly, poured out of her ears anew and right into the faces of Flora and Alexa Crover, who were seated next to her. Flora and Alexa both scooted away out of necessity. Astoria and her friends were talking so excitedly about Patronuses that she did not, at first, notice Alexa’s old spot being taken.

“You startled me,” she said to Draco, who was too exhausted to be perturbed about the steam in his face. “I took Pepperup today.”

“I see that,” he said, then lowered his voice. “Sorry about Hogsmeade. I heard you on the wireless, though.”

“It’s not your fault the trip was cancelled. So, what did you think?” Astoria asked.

Sometimes she cared what he thought, and sometimes she didn’t. She would have to decide whether she cared or not based on the rudeness of his answer. Draco waved her forward to whisper something. He was too tired to comprehend that he would get a mouthful of steam that way! She refused to move closer.

“I like that song you wrote about me,” he therefore said aloud.

Astoria’s friends had entirely ceased eating, though Flora eyeballed him as she sipped from her goblet.

“Not everything is about you, Draco,” Astoria answered light-heartedly, trying to play this well.

“Oh, but _that_ was,” he said, and started humming the song.

Under the table, as deftly as she could, Astoria cast the Distraction Charm her father had invented. She was forbidden from reading his papers from his old job, but they were about the library desks near the Occlumency books she needed at Christmas break. Indeed, her friends heard the incantation, since she could not do it nonverbally, but they had no way of knowing what it was. Soon they were staring at the candles flickering above them, trying to count them.

“Are you satisfied now?” Astoria said once she knew her friends were sufficiently occupied with counting.

“Nice spell. This means I’ll have to write something about you,” Draco said.

“Not on the ceiling this time, please,” she said, referring to the Valentine’s party.

“Ceiling? No, not on the ceiling again… It’s so loud in here. I think I need to go for a walk after this,” he said, rubbing his temples.

“You probably have a headache from lack of sleep. I think you need to go to bed,” she said.

“Come with me.”

“…Pardon?”

“Pff! On the _walk_ , Astoria,” he grinned.

“I have steamy ears.”

“So? At least make rounds in the dungeons with me. I have to enforce curfew, you know.”

“I’m not a Prefect. Erm, so, going out after curfew…”

“Is that a no?”

“It’s a yes.”

It was almost certainly the fact that her friends were so mentally fuzzy that made Astoria agree, but the second she did, she regretted it. Going out past curfew would attract the attention of any other Prefects about, and she didn’t have a good alibi for any Aurors, either. Astoria briefly escaped the situation she had created by walking to the lavatory before dinner was over. When she saw herself in the mirror, she growled a growl that did not often come from Greengrasses. The coarse noise attracted the attention of Moaning Myrtle, victim of the basilisk and haunt of the lavatories. Astoria had found Myrtle to be quite the gossip and usually refrained from detailed conversations with her. For once, though, Myrtle did not seem to pry, and since Astoria had succeeded in turning her friends into arithmomaniacs, she confided in the ghost.

“I swear he had to pick _the_ greasiest day of the year to do this,” Astoria lamented as she glared at her sweaty reflection.

“Oh, I don’t want to hear it!” Myrtle exclaimed. “I’m stuck with _eternal_ acne.”

“I’m sorry, Myrtle,” Astoria said.

“ _Eternal acne_!” the ghost emphasised, but then her sullen mood changed to one of bemusement. “Sneaking about tonight, Astoria?”

“Oh, you know it,” she said before splashing her sweaty face with water.

She didn’t have any good makeup, even back in her dormitory. That was for older girls, her parents said. Daphne had had it at her age, though. Astoria’s hair had given up on her for the day, so it was going to take the work of a wand to give it life again. She would have time to do this before their walk, but why not do it now? He was sitting next to her at dinner, after all. Moaning Myrtle sat on the sink next to Astoria and helped her position her wand.

“You need to move your hand left… no, left. There! All the girls in my year knew how to do that. They’d put some Heat Charm on their wands and curl their hair,” Myrtle sighed. “I always ended up burning myself.”

“Nobody said I _wasn’t_ getting my fingers burnt right now,” Astoria said.

“He must be really important to you.”

“I guess he is.”

“Pretty doesn’t always take pain, Astoria. I think your hair looks swell.”

“Well…”

“Really!” Myrtle squeaked. “In all my years here, I’ve seen a million girls give themselves that look you’re doing right now in the mirror. I still do it, and I’m _dead_. It’s not worth it. You’re quite pretty as you are.”

“Oh, Myrtle, thank you. The Pepperup steam has been frizzing my hair all day… I guess I’m getting too worked up. My friends know how to do their makeup and everything. Sometimes I feel like all I have to offer is my hair.”

“You wouldn’t think that if there weren’t mean girls bragging all the time. They’re the ones with nothing to offer except bad attitudes.”

“Since when did you get so good at giving advice?” Astoria laughed.

“Since when did you need advice, hmmm?” Myrtle said with her hands on her hips. “Since you started _sneaking out_?”

“…Yes,” mumbled Astoria.

“Who’s the boy?”

“I don’t think so… You’ll tell the whole school! Goodnight, Myrtle.”

“Aw, you’re no fun!” Myrtle wailed.

Astoria saw her roommates to the dormitory and eventually Muffled her own ears whilst they counted the bricks in the wall and, agonizingly, the threads on their rugs. The split-second nature of her decision to cast that spell had left her clueless as to how long it would last, given her wand’s history. He might not have been especially concerned, but Draco asked Astoria when the charm on her friends would wear off. She hoped it would wear off before morning, or else she would have to explain far too much to the teachers.

“I’ll blame you if it comes to that, Draco.”

“How nice! They hate me anyway, so why not throw me under the carriage?”

“That was exactly my thought,” she grinned. “How have you been lately, really? I still never see you outside of Astronomy, and I feel like we can’t talk in there because the class is so small.”

“I’m managing,” he said offhandedly, then turned the conversation to her.

It was very unusual for him to not want to talk about himself, especially when the opportunity had been handed to him. Astoria talked about Pariah’s forthcoming concerts, a little about the O.W.L.s, and then went unfailingly back to Astronomy.

“I still don’t understand how Atmospheric charms have anything to do with Astronomy,” Draco said, concerned about their impending practical lessons.

“Magic is a turbulent force, as I’ve certainly learnt the hard way. In ancient history, many spells were created to control or enhance natural processes, such as elemental spells. As much as our own mentality and power has to do with it, magic can also depend on the weather, the sun and the moon, and to a some extent, our position in space. Because of the advantages and dangers of growing certain plants and casting certain spells under different conditions, the International Wizarding Agency of Atmospheric and Space Magic were created as one. Our ancestors revered the seasonal positions of stars, which is why we have some seasonal celebrations most Muggles do not have. Long ago, the stars also served as compasses for a largely nomadic Wizarding population, seeking to keep their families safe from curious Muggles.”

“Oh, they were more than curious, Astoria.”

“Is _that_ the only part of anything I said that you heard?”

They had only been near each other for twenty minutes. Why did he always do this?

“No, no. I heard you. It could be fun, I suppose. Lecture’s absolutely boring for me when you’re not writing me notes,” he said.

 _Good grief_.

“I’ll have to do that more to keep you awake. Did you see Adamina fall asleep on Thursday? That was embarrassing,” Astoria said.

“So… You call her Adamina when everyone else calls her Mina. It’s no wonder she makes faces at us still.”

Astoria thought about it for a moment, and she knew that it wasn’t the only reason they occasionally earned a glare from her cousin. Still, Astoria was not comfortable with using nicknames unless it was with Rhiannon.

“I think I prefer to call her Adamina since she was named for my father. Going by Mina takes away that acknowledgement of my father and of our traditions. It’s like how your mother’s side has a tradition of choosing names of stars and constellations. My father’s side of the family respects the earth by picking names that evoke it.”

“I like our traditions,” Draco agreed. “Of course, I’ve been made fun of for my name plenty of times. When I first came to Hogwarts and people made fun of my name, my grandfather Cygnus said people used to call him _Sickness_. So it could be worse… I could have been Cygnus the fourth. You have several family members with numbers after their names, too, don’t you?”

“My great-uncle’s name is Quennell the twenty-third.”

“No!” he laughed. “Somebody somewhere had to have read that wrong.”

“Oh, it’s true! The worst of it is that my family sometimes picks names of ancestors they don’t know anything about because a good arithmanceutical number is next.”

“As good an excuse as any. So, let me guess. You’re named after your mother, Estelle,” he said, quite proud that he had figured it out.

“I am. Daphne is named after my aunt Laureline since they both mean the same thing. You aren’t named for anyone, though? Or, at least, you don’t have a string of numerals after your name,” Astoria pondered.

“I’m the first Draco in at least seven generations.”

“That really surprises me,” Astoria declared.

“How so?”

“It’s a very nice name, that’s all. Draco is circumpolar in our hemisphere,” she said. “Not to mention the symbolism is pretty fierce.”

Draco was thrilled to hear that. He bared his teeth and made a claw motion with his hands. Astoria was relieved to see him in this mood again, but she couldn’t tell his dragon impression from a vampire one without context. She probably could do a better one and use her steaming ears to an advantage. Perhaps that was too juvenile…

Astoria had appreciated how relaxed she could be when she was with Draco. It was natural and meaningful whenever they spent time together like this. Her anxiety tonight, though, was not spoiling that. She was enjoying the deliberateness and calibration of their actions because of how obvious it made their interest in each other. She wanted to see him being awkward –– Draco, who always tried to play it cool. She could afford her heart to race now. She recalled her first night at Hogwarts when the house-elves had lost her bags. It had been like this, except the hour had been earlier, she had been a child, and he had been an idiot.

“Quennell the twenty-third, hm?” Draco thought back. “I would say my family’s at minimum that old on my father’s side. Ancient, but not big. What’s it like being in a family so large?”

“Well, you saw about one-sixteenth of it at Christmas,” Astoria exaggerated.

“So… it’s loud.”

“It’s loud when they’re at the estate. We frequently have guests during the social season, but we only have a few major banquets and even fewer balls in a year.”

“See, at my manor, it’s quiet. I –– ugh, never mind.”

Draco readjusted his robes and reached up to fuss with his tie. Prying wasn’t going to get him to finish his story. Astoria instead went with the compliment route, saying that she had seen photographs of his house and didn’t think it a quiet place. She thought it would be a perfect place for an Allhallowtide or Samhain feast, given all the beautiful trees in autumn.

“I –– You’re not wrong. I, erm, I was going to say I used to think my house was haunted on account of its age… The people-to-room ratio didn’t help, either. Grandpa Black caught on to this, right, and he would wait till Mother was busy to tell me ghost stories. Then I couldn’t go anywhere in the house without her for fear of ghosts. And, you know her, she took her good time telling me there weren’t any because she thought it was, er, cute I guess. I was _five_ , just as a disclaimer.”

“That’s adorable,” Astoria teased. “I’ve always admired ghosts, though. I spoke with Myrtle earlier. She’s very gentle as spirits go.”

“Have plenty of ghost experience, do you?” Draco asked.

Astoria noticed the subtle changes in the way he patrolled the halls. His eyes wandered more. He eventually moved next to the wall. Draco was still apprehensive about ghosts, and Astoria felt an overpowering urge to stay on the topic.

“Not _plenty_ of experience, no. There is one ghost occupying the grounds of my estate. He told me his name is Quennell. I think he’s the very first Quennell, though he refuses to say. He’s a shy sort of man. My parents have always told me to keep away from him. I never did, especially as a child.”

Draco looked both curious and disquieted, asking, “Why, because your parents told you?”

“Not at all. He kills the flowers. The first time I saw him as a little girl, I had run over meaning to scold him,” said Astoria. “He had given me the most miserable look, like he hadn’t meant to do it! So I used to bring him pressed flowers, that he might enjoy them without getting close to the ones in the gardens. He’s a rather morose being, but I wave to him and try to talk to him when my parents aren’t nearby. He always removes his hat! A tip would be a sufficient greeting.”

“‘Sufficient.’ You do realise this is a ghost we’re speaking of,” Draco said, easing back up.

“What would you suggest?”

“I’d suggest hiding behind my mother,” Draco said like it should have been obvious to her. It was so rare for him to use self-deprecating humour. He must have been comfortable. It meant that he both understood and expected their conversation to be special between them. Astoria let silence do its job for the length of a corridor, and then asked Draco, carefully, how his mother was.

“Apart from the fact that her life is spiralling out of control, she’s doing _fantastic_. Honestly, though, I’m just trying to keep it together for her.”

“That’s thoughtful of you. I’m not sure I’d be able,” Astoria said quietly. “Our parents always supported us. It’s hard to know what to do the other way around.”

“Well, she’s done _that_ too, for her parents,” Draco said emphatically. “She’s really the caregiver for everyone in the family. My grandpa had her at seventeen. I don’t think he ever understood that these kids weren’t going to take care of him just because they were all girls. So he didn’t take care of himself, and he died in his fifties. He had his first kid at thirteen when he was still in school. And so did his dad. Erm, I remember figuring that out one day through maths. No one _ever_ talked about it. Grandmother was a few years older. I was surprised then –– it horrifies me now. Mother doesn’t talk much about her childhood. I’ve noticed that.”

“That is so young,” Astoria said with a furrowed brow. “That’s sad.”

That was the youngest she’d ever heard. She and Draco were speaking quietly, but they lowered their voices even more when they passed Professor Snape’s office and corridor. They hadn’t seen a single errant student, probably more on account of the Aurors patrolling than anything, but Professor Snape’s area was even off limits to the most multiplied of dares.

“I’m seventeen this June and cannot imagine that for the life of me. I’ve never even babysat.”

“I’ve looked after my little cousins when we all get together, but it was mostly my family saying ‘Watch them during this party,’ not ‘We will literally pay you to take this child off our weary hands,’” described Astoria.

Draco elbowed her, saying, “Please babysit this child we named _Quennell the seventy-second_ who won’t answer to anything less.”

“It really rolls off the tongue.”

They had reached a darker patch of the dungeons and ran into the seventh-year prefects making a return trip. It wouldn’t be necessary to get close, but it was a little nerve-racking to follow them back from the area. They both knew Astoria wasn’t a prefect. They both looked back at her every so often. They never did ask. Astoria used the experience with them to brace herself if she encountered Tracey or the prefects from her year. Or ( _oh please, anyone but_ ) Professor Snape.

Draco motioned to Astoria, and she feared the worst, so they stepped into the Potions laboratory and waited quietly. It was only Horatio Pershore, walking by unaccompanied.

“You frightened me, Draco,” she said.

“I didn’t want to answer to him. He’s nosy, but he never hits this room. I pulled two seventh-years out of here my very first week as a prefect.”

“…You didn’t.”

“I did before it got too interesting, or Snape would have murdered them. If you’re stupid enough to pick this spot...! Come on, it’s the _P_ _otions room_. I bet I did them a favour.”

“It is severely lacking in ambience, I’ll admit.”

It looked like they were heading back to the common room after evading Horatio, but there wasn’t an ounce of Astoria that wanted to. She couldn’t do this perfectly safe “walk and talk” thing anymore, not a day longer. She sneaked her hand into Draco’s. His hand was sort of dry and cool to the touch.

Draco gawped at her, perhaps surprised at the timing. It wasn’t that it was late at night. It was that it was March. Pansy Parkinson had only attacked her a month ago with little reason… Well, Astoria could think of _some_ reasons as she and Draco tried to pick how their fingers should lace.

They weren’t taking the fastest way back to the common room, but then again, they weren’t avoiding it. It was always the same thing. They were afraid of each other’s families. They would hint at affection and never move. They had been looking at each other through glass.

Astoria wanted to lead him by the hand, abscond down a corridor they had patrolled themselves, and create a blond mess of his hair. He deserved it for leading her to fix her own hair with her wand earlier. Because nobody made a fool of her anymore. That had been her personal rule. The other rules… Well, she could break those.

“You’re not secretly a Legilimens, are you?” Astoria asked.

“What if I was?” Draco asked quietly in turn. “You’d be more careful, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d have to be.”

There was no tug or pull of the arm. Draco simply lifted their hands, and she moved to him like a dance. He was beautiful. Every flickering shadow on his face drew Astoria’s eyes to his cheekbones, down his jaw, to the grin on his lips.

“Well, I actually can’t read your mind, so speak up,” he advised.

Astoria went way up on her tip-toes to meet his kiss. He reached beneath her arm, traced his fingers up her back, and finally placed a hand on her shoulder to lower her back down. He would reach her.

Astoria’s mind was not especially flush with observations, though her body knew there were plenty to be made; instead, she enjoyed the stillness of her nerves. There was no place here for thoughts of their families, of the war, of their disapproving friends. They were together, warm, safe, and secret. The simplicity of their touches and the absence of hesitation meant that they were no longer symbols of destruction to each other. Astoria was, at last, able to illustrate what he had come to mean to her.

Then she remembered her ears were still steaming and froze.

“M-My ears!” she gasped.

Draco didn’t take his hands off her hips, which was perfectly reassuring, but the fact remained…

“I was wondering when you’d remember! Looks like I had you thoroughly distracted,” he laughed.

“You didn’t say anything!”

“I wanted to see how long it would take you to notice.”

“So you could congratulate yourself!” she said in response to his smug expression.

“Don’t look so embarrassed, Astoria. Remember, you held my attention enough for me to ignore the steam. Not bad for your first snog.”

Astoria held her chin up, “How can you be so sure it _was_ my first snog?”

Draco –– who was all smiles, she might add –– put his hand on her face and wiped the corner of her lip with his thumb. Then he poked her nose, a hint of superiority.

“It was an honour,” he said smoothly.

Astoria and Draco held hands on the walk back, yet they let go at the common room entrance.

 _It goes without saying_ , _doesn_ ’ _t it_? she thought. _We have to let go_.

Draco wasn’t ready to say the password. Astoria let the moment linger and watched his eyes fall. Astoria had had a few smudges on her personal record, but Draco was the spilt ink, and he knew it. She wanted him to know it. It highlighted the exigency of what they had done. This was not some fluke, or fling, or flippant decision. She had doubted this. She knew he was in Rhiannon’s Foe-Glass from time to time, and she had yet to be certain of what that meant. He wouldn’t be in her own Foe-Glass if she had one; she knew that much. Astoria had confronted him in the past, comforted him in the past, and kissed him like there was no tomorrow. Maybe there wouldn’t be. You-Know-Who’s influence over the Malfoy family was a hideous thing to consider.

“You should keep this a secret,” Draco murmured. “I will, too.”

“I’ll meet you the night the war is over,” Astoria said, using the words with which he had turned her down before.

Draco murmured something and held her close, nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In light of recent events on JK's horrible twitter, I am providing lists of resources for trans & nb individuals. ♥  
> [Canada](https://www.cdnaids.ca/key-transgender-support-resources/)  
> [U.K.](https://www.allabouttrans.org.uk/about/support-organisations/)  
> [U.S.](https://www.glaad.org/transgender/resources)


	18. The Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my [playlist is located here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy)
> 
> Chapter 18 - "Did You See Me Cry?" by Boy Scouts
> 
> Cw: suicide is mentioned in the sense that Draco wonders if Myrtle could have taken her own life
> 
> The Myrtle and Draco friendship in HBP is one of the scenes I absolutely needed to have more of. Draco is shown to not like his House Ghost and is, as we know, not a Muggle-born supporter, so his friendship with Myrtle is an incredible development for him. He's not quite there yet, but he's learning!

“ _You snogged Astoria Greengrass the night you poisoned a bloke_!”

This specific instance of Theodore’s shouting occurred after several other shouts at Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle to get out of the dormitory. With them gone, Theodore believed he was free to splutter in Draco’s face with morning breath.

“That’s a big accusation,” Draco said, but it only conflagrated Theodore’s rage. The skinny, scruffy hypocrite held him by the elbows. Theodore was never very tough.

“I _know_ you were together last night because I _saw_ you come into the common room. Her hair was a mess. Her hair is _never_ a mess. She has _no_ business being on curfew patrol, and you have _no_ business being with her!”

Draco wrestled himself free, but Theodore grabbed his left wrist and pulled his sleeve upward. The Dark Mark had been waiting there to sneer at both of them. Draco didn’t want to hit Theodore because it wouldn’t be much of a fight.

“I _know_ that poisoned Gryffindor was your doing… because whatever you’re trying in that secret room of yours isn’t working. It’s the same as the cursed necklace, you pathetic git! You’re gonna kill everybody in this castle _except_ the old man, aren’t you‽”

“Sit down, Theodore,” Draco said, for seeing the Dark Mark often changed him.

“Like hell I will!”

Draco drew his wand first, and sat Theodore down. Draco left his sleeve up still, because Theodore had to get it through his skull. Theodore had to learn the painstaking hell Draco was in every waking day. He could do whatever he wanted to do.

“The poison,” Draco hissed, “was out of my hands, and I had no way of knowing when it would reach the old man. I used probability. And yes, Theodore, I guess I had no way of knowing _if_ it would reach the old man. So tell me, since you’re the early bird gone looking for gossip, who was it that was poisoned?”

“Ron Weasley,” Theodore growled. “Via Slughorn! Via… I don’t bloody know. I know you hate his guts, but he could’ve _died_!”

“He didn’t, though!” said Draco. “It was a weak plan. I was testing the waters.”

“All right, Mr Dark Mark, let’s trace your steps!” Theodore said, daring to stand back up. He paced all over the room, saying, “You poison a drink; it ends up with Slughorn. Slughorn has those parties from time to time, and you know who’s _always_ invited? _Astoria fucking Greengrass_!”

“That’s not what happened. And she wouldn’t ever drink mead.”

“I’m saying hypothetically. There was nothing edible about that necklace that nearly embalmed Katie Bell alive,” Theodore spat.

“Astoria was nowhere near that.”

This room could have used windows. There were only two of them in there, but Theodore’s projectile morning breath was terrible the more he yelled.

“ _So you just plant these murder-traps near Gryffindors_ , _then_? God, Draco, I’ll go kill the old man if it means not everyone in the school has to watch which bloody doorknob they touch!”

“You couldn’t do it,” Draco said firmly. “You couldn’t do half of what I do.”

“You’re right. I couldn’t put the girl I liked in danger the way you do,” Theodore said to the wall.

 _He thinks he_ ’ _s_ _above me_.

“You’re angry that I found somebody who isn’t a fake?” Draco challenged. “You’ve gone on about my friends for six years –– as if I _didn’t_ know that none of them gave a damn about me! But, according to you, I’m shouldn’t have real relationships. I should just arse around listening to you.”

“You won’t have any real relationships when you get Astoria killed.”

 _Stop_.

“You’re a Death Eater.”

 _Stop_.

“Do me a favour and warn me the next time you put the whole school in mortal danger again,” Theodore spat. “You’re lucky I don’t march down there and tell her right now _what you really are_.”

Draco grabbed Theodore by the thin, tense shoulder and faced him. Theodore’s face was hard, but he wasn’t going to say anything more because he didn’t want it bruised. Theodore knew better. Well, Theodore knew better in more ways than one…

Snape had been all too quick to corner Draco about the poison as well. It had taken more than the day’s energy to get rid of the professor, and since Draco could not convince himself that he was not being watched, he had to forfeit that Sunday’s work on the Vanishing Cabinet. Astoria was off-limits, too, since she was with her friends, who had finally recovered from that wicked jinx she had put on them. The most he and Astoria talked –– the most Draco could bear to talk –– was him teasing her about how she had thought the Distraction spell to be an innocent charm when she cast it. But that had been at lunch. She felt so far away already. Maybe that was for the best. A dozen scenarios of her getting hurt by one of his assassination attempts on Dumbledore played through his head every hour.

On one of his stress walks, Draco saw Blaise at the end of the hallway and started panicking in earnest. They had not spoken much since Draco had split with Parkinson. Blaise could read between the lines of anything. He had turned Daphne Greengrass down instantly the second she hinted at disloyalty to her blood. The thought that he might now see Draco, the Malfoy heir, as a blood-traitor, haunted him. Draco despised knowing that Blaise would make a better Death Eater than he. What all did Blaise know about Astoria? Draco should have never told him he was a Death Eater. It had been ignorant bragging. Draco hated how he had gone from a braggart to a coward. He hid in the lavatory before Blaise could catch him alone.

“ _Can_ ’ _t a girl cry in private_?”

At first Draco thought he had walked into the girls’ room, but his aversion to ghosts was multiplied when he caught the sight and sound of Moaning Myrtle. Usually, one could tell which lavatories not to use based on the echoes of her nearly constant sobbing. She had caught him by surprise this time. He had no idea who had given her the agency to roam the boys’ rooms.

“Oooh, trying to hide from somebody, are we?” Myrtle asked, quickly lowering her voice to about a third of the volume.

“I’m not hiding.”

“Oh, I guess not. You’re Draco Malfoy, aren’t you?”

He didn’t like how she said that so pointedly. But he’d been here six years. She was bound to hear his name eventually, right? He knew _her_ name. She was a small, but loud, legend in a huge old castle.

Neither Myrtle nor he moved or spoke; he didn’t need to tell her that it was because he didn’t want alone time with Blaise. Myrtle smoothed down her ghostly robes –– they must have dated back to the thirties or forties and had accumulated every possible wrinkle in the interim. Draco didn’t understand how time worked for ghosts. He’d never looked at one for this long. And unlike Astoria, he certainly hadn’t gone ghost hunting.

“You must be Draco Malfoy or you’d have said ‘no,’” Myrtle clucked.

As ghosts go, she seemed the least threatening. But did Draco ever know how loud she could scream. Sometimes, her cries disturbed classrooms. He didn’t know why she wailed so horribly. No one living could cry that way. That’s what he disliked about ghosts. Their sadness had had so much time to stew, and their calls were not normal but funerary. He didn’t want to set her off.

“I went to school with Abraxas,” said Myrtle, then she howled with laughter. “Oh! Your face! It’s so darling! He was younger than me when I died. I never knew him. You thought I was going to blame you for something he _did_ , didn’t you?”

Draco didn’t answer. Myrtle floated all round the chandelier, then rested on it, stomach down. Draco likened her behaviour to a cat. She stared down at him with a smile and told him that he was one of the few people who had lasted this long in her presence without getting scared or being mean to her. Again, he didn’t know what to say or if her statement was even true. Myrtle sunk clean through the chandelier and stood (floated, rather) right in front of him. He thought she might scream.

“You do give me the impression that _I’m_ the intruder into your haunting grounds,” she pondered. “Is there something the matter, Draco?”

Yeah, it was that Myrtle was probably Astoria’s age when she died. And unlike the House ghosts, Myrtle probably died right on site in one of the bathrooms. Had she killed herself? How else would somebody die in a bathroom? He wasn’t going to find out simply by staring at her.

It wasn’t possible to tell which House she had been in, since the whole of her spectre was silvery, so he went ahead and asked her to ease the tension. It didn’t really matter, but she was the only one in the whole castle Draco felt like he was allowed to talk to on that grey day. If Astoria could communicate with an ancient, flower-killing phantom, surely Draco could talk to Moaning Myrtle.

“I’m Ravenclaw,” said the ghost proudly. “There’s not a common room riddle I haven’t solved in fifty-nine years and counting!”

“You’ve been here fifty-nine years?” he asked carefully.

He realised there was nowhere to sit in this room except the actual toilets, so he leaned against the wall.

“Five of those years I was alive, mind you,” Myrtle said. “And sometimes I would leave the castle to go haunt the people who bullied me. I’m not allowed to do that anymore.”

“I think you ought to be,” Draco said, searching for his starved sense of humour. “You went through all the trouble to become a ghost. You ought to be able to haunt people you don’t like. Isn’t that the fun of it?”

“You’ve got that right! But the Ministry said no and they put some weird magic on me. Governing the dead! Bah!”

Myrtle floated past the sinks, turning on all the spigots without lifting a finger. It wasn’t exactly magic, since ghosts couldn’t use that. It was something else. Draco caught sight of his reflection and was not pleased with how pale he looked, even with Myrtle there for comparison. She must have seen him clench his jaw. She floated right back to him and put her hand on his face. It was very cold, like a winter wind that had brushed up some snow to his face, soon to melt.

“You really are very darling. I bet you’re one of the popular ones. Nobody popular ever talked to me except to bully me,” she said gloomily, and turned away.

The light from the window spilled through her and made her hard to see. If Draco had not already known she was there, the movements of her lucent form would have startled him.

“I’m not popular,” he said. “I only have a couple of friends, and even _they_ …”

“They’re not real friends if they’re unkind to you.”

“No, no. They’re true friends. It’s not like that. I make mistakes, and they’re, er, aware of them. It’s probably my own fault. But I have my share of fake friends. And enemies. Sometimes I don’t know which is worse. They both make me feel… er, pretty worthless, to be honest,” he said.

“If you ever need a friend,” said Myrtle, but then she hid her face in her hands. “What am I saying? I’m Muggle-born. How could I forget?”

“Forget what? That you’re Muggle-born?”

Draco was, again, not certain of what to say. He’d never forget that he was a pureblood. Did other races forget what they were when they died? No, that didn’t make sense…

“I know I’m Muggle-born –– that’s why I died!” Myrtle protested. “What I forgot was that Malfoys don’t talk to Muggle-borns. Malfoys rarely come through the castle. It’s easy to forget these things. I can’t remember every living family and all your stupid _living_ rules. You must think I’m a waste of time!”

Myrtle wasn’t doing her archetypal moaning and wailing; instead, she was crying softly into her sleeve. Draco discovered he didn’t need to know whether she had been killed or had killed herself. She was Muggle-born in the mid-century. So, either way, somebody must have found a way to bring her to this. Somebody Draco’s family would agree with. Draco watched a stray snowflake tear fall to the ground from Myrtle’s face. He wasn’t sure what would happen to it, whether it was material or merely a phantasmal shade of human sadness.

“You’re not a waste of time,” Draco said. “It’s nice to talk to you.”

Myrtle’s glasses were foggy when she looked up at him, further confusing Draco’s sense of what about her was real and what was shadow. He thought about how no one had any literal blood when they died and became ghosts. The blood status one enjoyed in life was similarly stripped. There was not much difference between her and the pureblood House ghosts. In fact, Myrtle was more relatable and less disquieting. Who would have thought? Maybe everyone goes the same.

“Myrtle, what is it like to die?”

“No, Draco, you don’t need to know that,” she said hollowly. “I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions about you.”

“Really? Er…”

He’d never been let off the hook so easily in his life. Myrtle had the wrong idea about him because she couldn’t decipher his attitude. That was fine. He ought to be sorry for jumping to conclusions about her, too. At first, it was difficult for him to sympathise with a Muggle-born, since it wasn’t how he was brought up, but he was getting better at watching his mouth. It was surprising what could come of that with Astoria. She had a tendency to think he’d changed.

“You have a Muggle-born in Slytherin at long last,” Myrtle said, wiping the last of the recent tears. “My friend Rhiannon!”

She had said it with such credit, as though Draco had personally put Clarke in the House, which was anything but true. Myrtle shut off the water in the sinks and played with the door hinges. Now Draco knew why ghosts made so much noise –– there was little else to do.

“I don’t think people should be mean to one another,” Myrtle said. “I stayed here out of vengeance. It’s a feeling I can’t shake. People stay for a reason, but they never seem to be very good reasons in the long run… I miss my mother most.”

“Will you get to see her again?” Draco asked.

“I think _she_ sees me, at least,” Myrtle sniffled. “Maybe one day I’ll get it right and can go find her. I’m too angry at the living now. I feel like I do nothing right.”

“Me too,” he acknowledged. “I’m always messing up. The worst part is someone always sees me do it. No matter what it is, I’m always getting criticism from all sides. It makes me even angrier. I end up… well, alone.”

“We’re very alike, Draco Malfoy.”

He didn’t know about that, but he promised he’d come back to see her when he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Juneteenth! The NAACP has an [updated petitions page!](https://www.naacp.org/campaigns/we-are-done-dying/)  
> It is free to sign the petition (country code is a drop down for mobile), and donations can also be made from this website.


	19. Slytherin's Blot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astoria casts a pretty obvious Patronus, and Draco and Rhiannon try to interact without throwing anything at each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will come with a musical rec, and my [playlist (link)](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy) will update along with the chapters.
> 
> Chapter 19 - "Rhiannon" by Fleetwood Mac aaaaahahhhahah
> 
> also ya girl learned the html to link stuff and had to keep clicking "post" so if you got alerts for like 30 updates I am so, so sorry

Clarke (Rhiannon Clarke) forked the end of her wand in her D.A.D.A. class, right in front of Snape, and it was all anyone talked about in the common room. She came back the same day with a paler, more polished wand, and once the drama subsided, talk of the upcoming Quidditch match took over. The match was between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, so it wasn’t the most exciting in Draco’s opinion, but the students had so much cabin fever that anything could become news. Draco would have liked the excuse to get outside the castle, but he needed the privacy to work on the Vanishing Cabinet. He, Crabbe, and Goyle took only a few moments to scout where the professors were near the Quidditch pitch before going inside. Draco worked on that stupid cabinet as long as he could, once again sacrificing sleep and a full meal. He did have other things to try to balance, namely Defence Against the Dark Arts and the return of his ex, Pansy (if those things could be considered any different).

The day after the Quidditch match, Draco sat in the common room to try to work on his essay on the Imperius Curse. He was also trying to sense the mood of his fellow Slytherins upon Pansy’s return because it was hard to say how deeply Pansy had cracked… and if she would let out Draco’s secret. It didn’t look like anything was different, except Pansy was now hanging out with the fifth-years who tended to bully Astoria’s group: Diane Carter, Imogen Stretton, Olivia Shardlow, Chiyo Akiyama, and Tracey Nettlebed. Hopefully, for their sake, they didn’t have any big plans to gang up on Astoria, because Draco was not merciful after having heard about the pieces of glass being lodged in her neck.

The essay on resisting the Imperius Curse was not an easy one to write. First of all, it was one of Snape’s essays, but secondly, Draco’s personal experience with the curse was making him uneasy and unproductive. In his fourth year, Moody (Crouch, rather) had been casting it left and right as a “demonstration,” and Draco had not been able to resist it then. Although now a skilled Occlumens, he figured that that did not have much to do with the Imperius Curse and had no idea if he would be able to resist it if it ever came to that. When he wrote about resisting the Imperius Curse, he felt weak and stupid. But Madam Rosmerta sure wasn’t able to fight it off, either; Draco had her Imperiused to the moon and back. It felt disgusting in all honestly, and he tried not to interfere with her daily life when he didn’t need her. He could not completely trust her since she had bungled up both the necklace and the mead.

Draco was further side-tracked from his essay by thoughts of what exactly he should do after fixing the Vanishing Cabinet. He did not know which reinforcements he should bring to help him kill Dumbledore. That wasn’t saying that Draco intended to sit back and watch the show. He felt capable of duelling Dumbledore, though he could not have been more aware of his chances of losing. He didn’t have a set of rules to go by, but it must have been that as long as Draco formulated the plan and dealt the final blow that it would be okay. Draco’s family would be okay. That must be it.

Draco had a mere four classes to handle and Appartion lessons, but McGonagall and Snape had set out to make the work as unnecessarily time-consuming as possible. He didn’t learn by writing essays; he learnt by casting spells. Yet as soon as he turned in a Transfiguration essay on the genetics of Metamorphagi, he had one on the laws for Animagi. As soon as he turned in the essay on the Imperius Curse, he found the empty parchment of yet another dementor essay staring him in the face. He couldn’t be bothered with it immediately, for he was picking up the pace with the Vanishing Cabinet.

The cabinet, having finally been mended beyond the point of danger of leading to a void, became very temperamental and would not transport more than a Knut or a spider at a time. Progress, therefore, was not any excuse to be optimistic, and on top of that, Draco increasingly felt like he was being watched. He felt it no matter where he went, even in his dormitory, and feared the unknown limit of the Dark Lord’s powers. At the eleventh hour, though, he still had some fear of the marks Snape would give him for a nearly empty dementor essay and hurried to the library. To his disgust, everyone else in his class must have procrastinated, for all the decent texts on dementors had been lent out. Draco attempted to start an argument with Mrs Pince, the librarian, about how it was her job to stock enough copies to support a student body, but she was utterly unmoved and simply Quieted his voice down to a volume she preferred. No one else had quite the excuse that Draco had for putting off this essay. Why did nobody understand this?

“You should manage your time better, young man,” said Mrs Pince. “But since you are in such a bind, perhaps you could find somebody with a copy of Professor Sinistra’s book on the subject. It was quite popular.”

“Professor Sinistra’s book?” Draco asked, dumbfounded that she had written anything unrelated to astronomy.

“It’s that, or you will need to learn to share,” the old woman said smartly, shooing him along.

Draco happened to know one person who had accumulated a collection of dementor books and news articles, because she was the only one in the school who had a dementor obsession. But he wasn’t about to share with Rhiannon Clarke. He was too proud to find somebody with Sinistra’s book, though, and figured it wouldn’t be so bad to try his luck in the Astronomy Library. Even though dementors had nothing to do with Astronomy, neither did Sinistra’s shopping lists, notes to self, coffee mugs, or yearbooks, which he had found in there before when looking for books on meteor showers. She likely had a copy of her own book in there, and who knows, maybe the blueprints of her house.

Going all the way to Astronomy Tower gave Draco a chance to clear his head. He deliberately chose a route that would not make him think about the cabinet. His heart sank when he realised that two weeks had flown by since his and Astoria’s… _walk_. They had lingered a little and flirted during the journeys from the dungeons to Astronomy Tower, but it was too infrequent. He wanted more. He wanted to know just why she hadn’t been more forward since then. Was it their reputations? Their safety? She hadn’t lost interest, had she? Pansy had never been suave enough to make him guess like this. Pansy had always been vocal about Draco’s disappearances in the castle. That Astoria, though… Maybe she knew he liked the wait.

He was getting close to the Astronomy Library and appreciated glimpses of the sunset coming in through the thin windows scattered in the stairwell. Draco continued to follow the spiral of the tower’s staircase and found himself face-to-face with something squat and glowing. It wasn’t Myrtle. It looked like one of his grandfather’s peacocks, especially with the pale glow. He would have thought it was an omen if he wasn’t in such an inexplicably good mood all of a sudden.

“Look! There he goes, down the stairs! Pavo, where are you off to?”

“Astoria, you don’t have to _name_ your Patronus. It’s a spell.”

“That’s enough, Flora. I’m naming him Pavo. The Delta Pavonids are due to shower in a couple of weeks –– it’s only appropriate. Ah, look at his feathers! How delightf–– oh, hello, Draco!”

“Hello.”

Astoria’s eyes gleamed in the light from her magnificent Patronus as it displayed its feathers clear across the stairwell. It could not have been the little-known Delta Pavonids that awarded her such a bird. Nor could it have been vanity. It was her nobility and beauty, and maybe a faint memory of Draco’s peacock-feather quills… he was in an overconfident mood.

“Malfoy? What are you doing here?” the other twin asked as she and Clarke caught up.

“I’m going to use the library.”

“We’re practising Patronuses up here,” Clarke said securely, her new wand ready for a Patronus… or something else.

“I can see that. Nice work, Astoria,” Draco said.

“Thank you!”

“On a related note,” he said only to Astoria, “I’m looking for books on dementors for my D.A.D.A. essay.”

“And why are you looking up here?” Clarke cut in defensively.

“As a matter of fact,” Draco said, trying his best to stay close to the Patronus to calm his irritation, “I was told Professor Sinistra authored a book on them. I was hoping to find a copy.”

No matter how much he tried only to look at Astoria, Clarke increasingly treated the conversation as though it was both with and _about_ her. Astoria’s Patronus had worn off; it was all up to him to stay civil now.

“We got copies, but what sort of essay would you need _that_ book for?”

“I just told you. A dementor essay. Snape gobbles them up. And it’s a dementor book,” Draco puffed out.

“No, it’s not your average dementor book,” Clarke said brusquely. “I’ve got dementor books out me ears. They’re in the dorm. Catch me later and I’ll give you one.”

Draco was surprised that Clarke would be so willing to offer him anything at all, but he also caught on to the subtlety that she did not want him to have her copy of Sinistra’s book.

“What is her book, then?” Draco asked Astoria, who was finally able to get a word in.

“ _Thirty Things to Expect from the Dementor_ ’ _s Kiss_ ,” she said.

“Thirty?” Draco echoed. “Your soul’s gone. What’s more to expect?”

“Twenty-nine more things,” Clarke said darkly.

“Lots of dementor talk going on in my tower,” Professor Sinistra called down from above.

Everyone waited for the professor right there on the stairs, gaping upward at the imposing sound of her footsteps. Draco didn’t know how the woman never tripped on all these stairs with the length of her robes’ train.

“I cast a Patronus, Professor!” Astoria announced.

“That’s excellent, dear. I’m very proud of you. I always knew you could,” Sinistra said, but she sounded more relieved than reaffirmed. “What form did it take?”

“A peacock.”

“That must have been very pretty. I’m sorry to have missed it. You’ll have to show me again sometime –– no, not now. You and Rhiannon go help Flora and Hestia with theirs.”

Once certain that the girls were gone, Professor Sinistra put on exactly the face she had when she was about to tell people to stop playing with the astronomy equipment. Her voice was soft, but Draco was not comforted. He always had to do extra work to keep her Legilimency out. Based on when Draco employed a blocking or diverting tactic in Occlumency, he could tell the strength of the invading opponent. Sinistra’s reach felt like it could go further than Bellatrix’s, but it was not as bad as Rabastan’s.

“My book is primarily about my husband’s experience,” Professor Sinistra said straightforwardly. “It’s not that I don’t want you to read it. If I wanted it to be a secret, I would not have published it. However, for the purpose of your essay, you would do better to use a general dementorology book that Miss Clarke has so generously offered. Otherwise, Professor Snape might think you’re a plagiarist.”

“He’ll still think I’m a plagiarist if she gives me a book everyone else has used,” Draco griped. “I have to turn this in tomorrow.”

“Then say in your essay they can’t be dissected, and cite me as an interview. You’ll be the only one with that piece of information.”

Draco considered for a minute that she might have thrown him that shocker to distract him from Occlumency, but then he understood why Sinistra had had so many entrances in the Azkaban visitor log. No wonder people called her Sinister Sinistra, even before the Azkaban breakout. It was in her very character. To attempt dissection of a dementor, and within the prison walls, she must have known some thoroughly Dark magic. She both frightened and amazed him. Draco sorely wished she was on his side instead of in her own bizarre world.

When he arrived late at dinner, he had an unwelcome view of Astoria surrounded on all sides at the table. She had the Slytherin table all mixed up and was sitting with her myriad cousins, whilst Clarke and the Carrow twins sat off to the side and rolled their eyes. Draco walked parallel to the table, back and then forth, trying to decide if he had the guts to sit with her when she was with family.

“I wish we could go! We always seem to miss it by a few days!” Adamina Kippling moaned as the clan hovered over bright, silvery letters.

“Why don’t they just wait till Easter break if they really wanted you there?” Flora cut in. “Or at least not get your hopes up with invitations. They know you can’t come because of school.”

“We don’t do things that way,” said Asenath Greengrass impatiently. “It’s _always_ the Equinox.”

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Adamina said, having noticed his slow return trip.

Her tone of voice and the ten Greengrass eyes suddenly upon him awakened his defences. Two of those eyes were Astoria’s, though. It would be okay.

“Another one of your spring festivals?” he asked rhetorically.

“Yes, our cousin Renshaw is getting married,” Astoria smiled. “They were a bit behind schedule with the invitations.”

“Let me guess. Renshaw the twentieth?” Draco said, still not spotting a good place to sit.

“The eleventh!” Astoria laughed. “He’s actually Renshaw the eleventh. Sylvester’s the twentieth, isn’t he, Asenath?”

“Yeah, and twentieth in the queue to get my Quidditch tickets, too,” the Gryffindor said, still sorting through her special delivery evening mail. “These seats stink.”

“Would you care to sit down, Draco?” Astoria asked.

“No, thank you,” he said, trying to get her eyes to follow his so she would know all of the glares he was receiving. She caught on.

Draco was getting antsy for both the book Clarke promised him and to spend time with Astoria after dinner. He lingered in the common room to wait for them, with blank parchment ready, rueing the amount of time he was losing and wondering if he looked stupid. Clarke and the twins did not notice him, but Astoria did, and asked him if he still needed the dementor book. When he said yes, something in the twitch of her lips told him that he should not have been using her as a mediator and should have reminded Clarke himself. But, outwardly, Astoria said that they were going to bring back their homework to the common room, and she would ask Rhiannon to grab the book.

 _SMACK_.

Draco must have nodded off in the few minutes of quiet. Clarke had charmed the book to land as loudly as possible on the desk in front of him and was uttering another spell. When he looked up, she had her wand pointed hard on the cover, causing it to ripple.

“This’ll come back to me when you’re finished with it.”

“How can you be so sure when I’m finished with it?” Draco said at once, half tempted to swat that fancy new wand of hers off the book before she ordered it to bite him in his sleep.

“Snape always has essays due the first class of the week, and yours is tomorrow, innit? So tomorrow night,” Clarke said, and she waddled over to where the others set up for homework.

Draco had seldom let the presence of Astoria’s friends stop him from talking to her before, but he was admittedly nervous now. He had finally won her over. But there was a good chance that Clarke would do something to make Astoria go off about Muggle-born-whatever again. There was a good chance being next to Astoria in general would distract him from his essay. It wasn’t looking like the best idea. Still, he slid into the chair next to her.

She stacked the books she wasn’t actively using and made room for him. He chose his favourite peacock-feather quill to use, a jab at her staring friends. They saw it. He made sure they understood.

Astoria was hard at work on Arithmancy. She was going to do well on her O.W.L. for that. She was going to get a nice job as an astronomer with that sort of thing on her résumé. She would be a philanthropist and get things named after her. She would get married on the Vernal Equinox and teach her children not to be afraid of ghosts. And to not be afraid of people who were different. That was her future without the Dark Lord.

The Carrow twins were getting help from Clarke as they crammed for a Muggle Studies test. Hestia and Clarke had been dating, which was the only reliable way Draco could tell which one was Hestia. They were saying a lot of Muggle words Draco didn’t care to know. Draco did not like a single one of Astoria’s roommates, but he wished they would all survive the war. He hoped that he would never be ordered to kill them the way he was ordered to kill Dumbledore. They hadn’t done anything to get killed for. They weren’t a match for the Dark Lord like Dumbledore was. They ought to be able to go about their lives.

Heather Thatcham arrived and asked Draco if he was still working on his dementor essay, too. He looked at the long roll of parchment that only said “Dementors are.” Heather sat down at the table with all of them. She had a copy of Sinistra’s book. Heather was one of three blood-traitorous roommates of Pansy. Reading the book, Heather remarked that she hadn’t known Moody was Barty Crouch. It was a stupid comment. Nobody knew that at the time, and Draco realised Sinistra hadn’t known it, either. That’s how Crouch got away with it and brought back the Dark Lord… because Sinistra hadn’t known.

Draco generated an introduction to his essay. He looked in the book. He wrote a first paragraph, too. Pansy and Blaise walked by. They saw him. He looked in the book. They went to their rooms. Draco wrote a second paragraph. This was tiring.

“You have good penmanship,” Astoria mentioned, looking all worn from the Arithmancy.

“Really? Snape’s docked points for my handwriting before,” Draco recalled.

“Professor Snape has the script of a nine-year-old girl,” Astoria said.

“That’s oddly specific.”

“Well, it’s frustrating when I can’t read his feedback on my essays.”

“I’ve got essays back that said ‘No’ in red ink and nothing else,” Clarke said. “And others that say ‘Yes’ and nothing else. I hold ’em side by side and try to see what I did differently.”

Draco looked in the book. Heather had been reading Sinistra’s tragedy but not writing anything. Draco reminded her of the time. Heather scratched out an outline. Astoria and Flora were taking a break and talking about what to do for Clarke’s birthday. They accused Hestia of trying to keep Clarke all to herself. In a way, he knew the feeling, because he wanted Astoria all to himself. The other ones were insufferable. He was trying to get an essay done. He looked in the book.

“It’s the little ones’ curfew,” Astoria said randomly.

No, wait, it wasn’t random. Draco was supposed to do curfew roundup. There were five other Slytherin prefects. One of them was Tracey Davis. She was sharp.

“They don’t have this essay,” Draco said. “I’ll try to get final curfew.”

He did not. He was still 10 inches off from the required length of this essay. Snape always used a charm to universalise the size of students’ handwriting before he marked papers, so writing larger wasn’t the answer. Heather and Flora had left. Hestia had fallen asleep at the table. Astoria’s eyes had glazed at all the numbers before her. Abruptly, she shook her head and wrote _72_ in the middle of a decagram.

“Why seventy-two?” Draco asked because he knew she was too tired to really do the work.

“I… I don’t know. That’s the internal angle. That’s not what she’s looking for, though. I’ll never understand the antiprisms in the N.E.W.T. classes if I can’t do this.”

Not having the right kind of ink, Astoria tried to take the number off with her wand. It put a clean hole through the parchment. She stared at it. Her lips parted.

“It’s zero,” she said certainly. “Zero.”

“That’s a long way from seventy-two, Astoria,” Clarke said. “Vector won’t take an hole for an answer.”

“I’m certain it’s zero.”

“Oh, here…” Clarke huffed.

Clarke tore a piece of parchment from her roll, lay it atop Astoria’s, and said “ _Meld_ ,” with her wand swishing to and fro. Astoria, with utmost focus, redrew the centre of her decagram and put in a zero. Draco knew she needed to get to sleep soon, but with Clarke present, he couldn’t bid her goodnight the way he wanted. He cut a piece of parchment and drew a decagram, trying his best to keep it looking like a star. He wrote, “I’d rather be doing Astronomy” in the centre. At this point, he had to tell Astoria not to look. He took his wand, cut out the figure, and Transfigured it into a pin. He had made many a glowing _Potter Stinks_ badge this way, and couldn’t forget to make this one glow, too. He tapped Astoria on the shoulder, and she opened her eyes. She smiled and put it right onto her satchel for everyone to see, possibly even Professor Vector. When she set her satchel under the seat and moved back in place, her leg touched his under the table. It stayed that way. The press of sleep ultimately overpowered her at half past midnight.

“Shall I bring Hestia?” Astoria asked.

“Don’t wake her,” Clarke said.

Astoria didn’t understand the ambiguity and said, “ _Propriopausa_ ” with her wand pointed at Hestia.

“What the hell did you just cast on my girlfriend?”

“Oh, it stifles the senses,” Astoria said. “I didn’t want to wake her when we moved her. Should I not have?”

“I mean… _no_? But get on with it. It’s too late now. Don’t take this the wrong way none, but never aim anything at us again after ten o’clock. I never know with your magic.”

“I’m sorry, Rhiannon. Are you coming?”

“Twenty more minutes. I have Astronomy I put off.”

“That… oh that’s going to take you more than twenty minutes, Rhi.”

“Not if I do it my way.”

Astoria rolled her eyes and mobilised the tranquilly sleeping Hestia in spite of Rhiannon’s request for her not to cast magic.

“Goodnight, Draco. Good luck,” Astoria said.

“Thank you.”

Rhiannon monitored Astoria’s care of Hestia the whole way back. That was really it. Draco still had a conclusion to write, and Clarke still had Astronomy. They were at the same table. There was nobody else in the common room. There were plenty of other tables for this girl to go. She stayed. Draco held the dementor book in one hand and drummed the fingers of his other on the table. Maybe he should move. He didn’t like her kind.

“There’s something between you and Astoria.”

 _Oh yes there is_.

“What are you on about?” he mumbled.

“I’m on about the Fudge Flies zipping round you two’s heads. I want to talk to you about it.”

This couldn’t be good. Nothing with Clarke ever was. Draco seriously considered whether or not he had to sit here and listen to this sort of thing from a Muggle-born. He didn’t, but she’d go crying to Astoria otherwise. He and Clarke needed to keep as far away from each other as possible to keep the peace. That was how things were. Draco was stone silent. He positioned his quill to write, but he did not have any ideas. Clarke ignored the gesture, where someone else might have taken the hint.

“I don’t think she’s going to tell me about you. Because, y’know, whenever it comes up, I’m against the idea. The problem is I don’t have room to talk no more. I’m with Hestia. Her aunt and uncle are Death Eaters, both of ’em. Of course, Hestia’s different from you. So I want to know if you’re going to take Astoria seriously.”

“Yes, I take her seriously,” said Draco angrily. “I’m trying to work, Clarke.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Clarke said, and she started rummaging in her bag.

Draco didn’t have much choice but to pay attention to what she was doing, just in case she tried to pull a fast one on him. They did not like each other. That was how things were. Clarke found what she was looking for and dipped her head low, so that her messy ponytail spilled into her face. Draco was expecting _something_ when she looked up, but he wasn’t expecting this.

Rhiannon Clarke was holding a broken Death Eater’s mask. It was cracked from below the left eye to the bottom right jaw, with some chunks missing. Draco was alarmed, firstly, that Clarke had come into possession of such a thing, but what he really couldn’t place was how she had found such a _fine_ one. Draco’s own mask was so plain one might think it was a theatre prop. This one was engraved with tree branch designs. The leaves stood out with gold veins against the silvery mask. Only Bellatrix’s rivalled it in rank. Draco clenched his fist.

“What are you doing? Where did you get that mask?” he hissed.

“Familiar? This was Professor Crouch’s,” Clarke said.

The metallic mask seemed to ring very faintly as she tilted it, like it held magic. Draco was aghast. His hand was ready should he need to draw his wand. A Mudblood in possession of a ranked Death Eater’s uniform… what a sight. Clarke was known to do things without reason, but this was not one of those times. There must have been some spell on the mask that prevented it from being Mended. Clarke looked like she actually feared further damage to it as she gently set it atop her Astronomy homework.

“I showed you this because I wanted you to see how outwardly pretty it was. But the story behind this mask, and how I got me hands on it, is anything but pretty. You and me both know what happened to Crouch in the name of his master. Professor Sinistra busted this up beyond repair. One day it’ll be gone. She don’t know I saved it. She don’t want these memories.”

Clarke wrapped her hands on the sides of the mask pieces and looked down at them.

“I think this mask is a good example of what it’s like to be a Death Eater.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me… Your kind has no idea––” Draco said.

“I have an idea, Malfoy. It all seems very appealing. Just like this pretty mask. It’s nice-looking to be a Death Eater in a certain type of crowd. It looks like it’ll benefit you. You and like-minded people. But it’s broken. It’s a broken system with broken ideals. That’s why the faithful ones like Crouch die, the stupid ones like the Carrows walk free, and the ones with families at home wait in prison for Lord What’s-His-Name to remember to come get them.”

 _This Mudblood bitch is talking about my father_ …

“Don’t get cross with me, Malfoy. I only mentioned it to make a point. If my dad was in prison –– which he might be, who knows –– he’d never even think about me if he got out. Your dad, that’s the first thing he’d do. He’d come home to you. Your dad actually likes you and he’s been stopped by a _broken system_. It was a _mistake_.”

“I suggest you get away from me,” Draco seethed.

“Listen to me, Malfoy. You can’t follow in his footsteps! Your old man wouldn’t even want you to, at this point! This war is already ugly. And I know what you’re thinking –– ‘this Mudblood has no right to talk to me!’ I got every damn right if you’re gonna get involved with my best friend! I don’t want her to end up devastated, you hear? She sees something in you. I dunno what. But if she sees it, it’s because she’s a sweet person, and you’re not going to take that away from her by following Lord Moldyfort. I don’t want to see you become a Death Eater. I could care less what you do, but I care a lot about Astoria, and––”

“Clarke, dammit, you’ve made your point!” Draco groaned, gripping his forehead.

“But I’ve not really rammed it home yet!” Clarke said, standing.

Draco stood in turn. They drew their wands at each other. It happened so fast. There was too much emotion between two people who couldn’t bear each other. Draco felt the muscles in his shoulders and back tighten and his nerves prickle clear to his wand hand. Clarke, though, was casual, and flipped her new wand side to side in her hand. Then she laughed to herself. She didn’t even give him the honour of facing him when they had been itching for a duel not moments ago.

“Do you know anything about wands, Malfoy? The wand chooses the wizard. I might have had an off-brand wand before, but this one was made by Ollivander. And it worked when it was handed down to me. What that means, and what I’m trying to tell you, is that my _blood’s_ got nothing on my magic. You might not like me because of my culture or whatever, but it’s all fake, that blood guff. And Astoria will tell you the same.”

It would have been easier to believe that Clarke was lying about the mask. But she wasn’t. She didn’t want to talk to him as much as he didn’t want to talk to her. She would not have kept him this long just to lie. People weren’t supposed to know about the Death Eater paraphernalia she had, either. She had revealed these things to him to talk him out of becoming a Death Eater. Clarke wanted to make an example of Crouch and Sinistra because she didn’t want that to happen to Astoria. She was trying to get Draco to see the fault in the ideology. How futile. Little did she know that Draco hadn’t had a choice. It was too late. It was too late for him and Astoria. He swallowed both his pride and emotion in his dry mouth and sat back down at his essay.

Draco could not admit that he was wrong, though he felt it in his growing headache. He was wrong to cling to the bright side of his dirty mission –– that he would be a revered and powerful Death Eater at the end of it. It was all he had in the face of his and his family’s mortal danger. Thinking that he was better than Clarke’s kind was all he had left. It was less of his parents’ teachings now and more of something desperate. It was wrong –– he _knew it_. It was a desperate cling to any power at all in a powerless situation.

Rhiannon Clarke did not know the Dark Lord’s power. That was why she could say things like this. She could present Draco with this information in the hopes that he would become something better for her friend. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t be better for Astoria.

“Do you think she means nothing to me?” he asked when he could not return to his work.

Clarke was ignoring her Astronomy homework, which still lay blank across from Draco underneath the Death Eater mask, and was throwing chocolate wrappers into the fireplace as she ate.

“I don’t know what she means to you, Malfoy,” she said quietly. “I only know what she means to me.”

Draco listened to the louder crackles when the chocolate wrappers hit the flames.

“I’ve never had someone like her,” he said.

“Me neither. I wanna make sure she’s happy with you like I am with Hestia. Hestia’s family’s got Death Eaters. But they got nothing on us.”

“That’s because Hestia’s family doesn’t know about you two,” Draco corrected.

Clarke was eating two chocolates at a time.

“You’re right. Hestia’s family doesn’t know, and I don’t got a family.”

“Well, our families don’t know, either. And they won’t,” he said, but he didn’t know why he thought that made sense.

“So then Astoria’s safe?” Clarke asked childishly. “Not like the dead people in the papers.”

“Yes,” said Draco, just as dumbly.

“Well, that’s what I care about.”

“Me too.”

“Well, then… Er, good talk, Malfoy.”

Clarke gathered up her things and left. She was a lot of disagreeable things, and this had been anything but a good talk, but she cared about Astoria. Draco respected that.


	20. Periastron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my playlist is [located here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy)
> 
> Chapter 20 - "Stargazer" by Mother Love Bone

Draco did not wait for the dementor book to try to find its way back to Clarke. When he finished his essay right before Snape’s class, he left it in the common room. Apparently, it had hit Max Manson in the head when it started soaring back to Clarke’s dormitory that evening. Draco sadly hadn’t been there to see it; he was still working on the Vanishing Cabinet, with Crabbe and Goyle on lookout.

The following day, he met up with Astoria before Astronomy. They were meeting together well before they were due to leave for class, since they wanted to avoid walking up with Theodore and Tracey. If they could keep Theodore and Tracey at least two storeys behind them, they could say and do whatever they wanted. The Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, being in towers, used different routes to class entirely, and since Hannah Abbott had had to leave school, there were no Hufflepuffs. This night was a little different, since they had been instructed to meet in the Entrance Hall. The class was going outside to work on Atmospheric Charms. Astoria had her hair different for Astronomy than she had worn it earlier. It was in some sort of low, braided bun. She looked very nice, so Draco told her.

“You’re very handsome yourself,” she said. He always liked compliments.

“I haven’t done anything,” he milked it.

“You don’t need to,” she played along.

“I bet you’re excited for tonight.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve wanted her to teach me Atmospheric magic since I first saw her.”

“Why not learn it yourself? You could handle it.”

“It’s illegal with no license.”

“Still, you could handle it,” he shrugged.

“Ha! We’ll see if I can even cast anything.”

They held hands until they reached the ground floor. Then Astoria drew their hands up, kissed his fingers, and let go. The secrecy they had adopted was somewhat exciting rather than inconvenient. Although, some people had vague ideas about why they walked together. He was actually starting to like the way her cousin Adamina glared at them whenever they walked into class together, and tonight was no different.

“Good evening, Adamina,” Astoria said in spite of it.

“Are you going to be okay with your wand, Astoria?” Adamina responded with intent.

She had no business asking that. Her dad was a Squib. Everyone knew that Adamina’s grandparents had had a Squib, and that that Squib married the only way he could –– the Greengrass way. Draco was thinking of something to say to Adamina, but the more he thought about his usual insults, the more confused he became. All of Adamina’s grandparents and her mother were pureblood. Her father was a Squib, and Adamina was a witch. Did that make her a half-blood? Adamina couldn’t have been classified as pureblood, but she wasn’t exactly a half-blood, either. Squib-blood? _Dud_ -blood? He couldn’t say ‘Dud-blood’ in front of Astoria…

Squibs almost never married purebloods, so Draco had never been confronted with this dilemma before. Was there any difference between the children of a Squib with half-blood parents and children of Squibs with pureblood parents? Could two Squibs make a wizard? What would that be called? It couldn’t be a Muggle-born. Unless it was… How else did Muggle-borns crop up? The official Death Eater take on the subject was that Mudbloods had stolen magic, but Mudbloods often exhibited magic so early that they flabbergasted their Muggle parents. That’s why Clarke had been abused by her parents, right? Because she was magical. Had the pureblood philosophers ever _seen_ a baby before? There was no way they could steal magic. They couldn’t even sit up.

Draco noticed that Astoria had never responded to Adamina. To him, that was odd. It was only on rare occasions when Draco did not have a comeback to someone who insulted him. He was used to blowing up arguments into fights. Astoria, though, could not have looked more unconcerned about her honour. Neville Longbottom had arrived (he looked like he had taken a wrong turn, since he did not come down the Grand Staircase), and Astoria exchanged a thumbs-up with him that Draco did not understand.

“His wand’s cherry, too,” Astoria whispered once he sat with the Ravenclaws.

Draco wasn’t inclined to talk about Neville Longbottom in the slightest. That arseface had been one of the students with Potter in the Department of Mysteries that had cost his dad his freedom. Astoria didn’t need the details. Draco’s enemies didn’t need to be hers. He had so many –– she’d be happier that way.

“You’re going to do great out there,” he said simply.

“Well, now I have to, since you said that,” Astoria pretended to pout.

Tracey and Theodore arrived, followed by Sinistra and three expressionless Aurors. Granger arrived last and made a big show of it even though she wasn’t late. She dropped her pressure altimeter on the stair, and Theodore caught it with his wand before it hit the bottom. She made an ugly sort of noise and looked up at Theodore.

“You look like you thought I was going to break it!” he laughed.

Theodore almost never laughed. Or blushed.

“Oh. No… er… Thank you, Theodore,” she said.

Everyone walked out, but Draco grabbed Theodore’s shoulder and asked him how many allergies he had. Theodore recognised it as a Polyjuice security question, rolled his eyes, and said, “Five –– shellfish, peanuts, horklumps, pollen, and stupid questions.”

“Just playing it _safe_ ,” Draco said, and Theodore snorted.

The night was as cold as winter. The sky was cloudy, and Draco imagined it would be their job to clear it. The three Aurors had their wands drawn, but Professor Sinistra told them to wait. They did not look like they were of half a mind to listen to her.

“It will be good practice for the students. Class – wands ready!”

Draco was the last to know why they had to draw so soon. Atmospheric charms were not supposed to be cast with so many people nearby. Only when Professor Sinistra swept her layered, black robes to the side and knelt down was Draco’s attention brought to the ground. Dementor mist was churning at their feet. Professor Sinistra had placed her hand deep into the miasma and concentrated. Then she stood, unswerving.

“There are no adults,” she said categorically to the Aurors, but the class had been equally keen to know. “We are going to attempt the Patronus Charm. Those who cast a corporeal one will get bonus credit on the next test. Those who cast an incorporeal one will get extra credit on this week’s homework. I understand Professor Snape has been giving you this exercise occasionally.”

“We didn’t learn it from Snape, though,” Anthony Goldstein felt the need to say. Sinistra ignored him.

“You should concentrate on a happy memory. I understand a funny one may also work as well. Do not be deterred by the mist. We have three Aurors here and are very close to the castle. I want you, as a class, to clear a path to the flying lessons’ field, where we will begin our actual lesson. It should look like this…” Professor Sinistra said, making a simple circle with her wand and saying the incantation, “…Except something might actually happen when _you_ do it.”

The Gryffindor pair and Goldstein were more than ready to show everyone up. Goldstein had conjured a whole flipping bear in a few moments, Granger had made some Jarvey-looking thing, and Longbottom seemed awfully proud to have any Patronus wisps at all. The mist on the ground reliably started to part away from the class, and Sinistra led the charge forth. Swati Pevekar and Adamina also produced only incorporeal Patronuses, but they didn’t look as satisfied as Longbottom. Tracey, who had been doing well enough in Snape’s class, now had a large wild cat of some sort. Theodore had tried twice for good measure, but he consigned himself to walking behind the safety of the Jarvey, which was a little humiliating. Draco hadn’t successfully cast anything, either, but maybe Theodore would think that he had on account of Astoria’s peacock. Nobody said Draco had to tell him differently.

The patch of field where first-years had Flying lessons looked like it served no purpose in the dark. Draco felt especially old thinking back to Flying lessons and how he hadn’t had a care in the world back then except to be popular. Flying lessons had been fun, but the real prize was in his second year, when his father bought the whole Quidditch team Nimbus 2001s. That had been the best thing in the world.

Draco wasn’t the only one starting to reminisce by being back on this field. Swati Pevekar started talking about Quidditch, and others talked about the first time they had flown whilst Professor Sinistra physically moved Theodore and Anthony Goldstein, who weren’t following her instructions on where to position themselves. From where everyone now stood, there couldn’t be a private conversation, but Astoria had such a way of making it feel like one by only looking at Draco when she said her parents didn’t like the idea of her flying since she got motion-sick and her blood pressure dropped. Other people looked at her, and she did not look back.

“They let your sister fly,” Draco said, noticing the unfairness.

Everyone was instructed to place their pressure altimeters where they could see them. Professor Sinistra said they weren’t going to need them yet, but keeping an eye on the barometric pressure would help them learn the interplay between that and atmospheric magic. Astoria and Adamina both had highly advanced ones that they strapped onto the wrists of their wand hands.

“They let Daphne do all kinds of things, and she doesn’t get mail every other day to ‘check up.’ It’s cosseting.” Astoria complained.

“Different from spoiling,” he said.

“Very different from spoiling. Why do you think I didn’t get here until I was nearly thirteen?”

“Probably because there was a troll in the dungeons, a basilisk underground, and dementors on the train…” Draco considered.

“I’ll give them that.”

“ _Shh_ ,” Adamina hissed to her errant cousin because Professor Sinistra was ready to start.

“We’re going to start with a simple spell to move the clouds. I have to use this nearly every night to teach. This is not only useful for clearing the sky, but also for blocking some of the moon’s reflection. This spell, and most atmospheric magic, involves a good bit of pressure and wind, which is why I’ve spaced you out. I shouldn’t have to say this to sixth-years, but if I see wands pointed anywhere but _up_ , there will be hell to pay. Everyone can aim for the same cloud –– yes, that one –– since it’s going to take some time before you can successfully do this independently. You’re going to need a lot of power behind this spell. The incantation is _nubes momentum_. Join in when you’re ready after Miss Granger here…”

“All of this hype, and it’s _nubes momentum_ ,” Astoria said with raised eyebrows.

She watched what Draco was doing intently, and gladly enough, the cloud had actually started to move so he wouldn’t look bad (it was mostly Tracey’s doing). Astoria tapped her wand against her hip twice, an endearing idiosyncrasy that she must have subconsciously thought made it work better. Then she went for it, and suddenly hit the ground hard on her bottom. Everyone stopped casting and looked at her. The cloud had been split in two. She didn’t pay mind to anyone, having her eyes set on the device on her wrist. Astoria stood up, muddy and unabashed.

“That’s plenty enough power, Astoria, but as you see, now we have two clouds to deal with.”

“Yes, Professor. I apologise.”

“Are you all right?” Draco asked.

“I am fine. _Nubes momentum_.”

Astoria was having way too much fun with this. She had one hand on her hip and her feet spread apart, planted firmly this time. It was pretty funny to see her in this pose as she took responsibility for the smaller cloud she had created. Astoria successfully sped it along on her second try, all the way over to the Quidditch pitch. Neither Tracey nor Granger, who were already overachieving, had done that yet. Professor Sinistra did not compliment Astoria, though. Draco suspected that was because the class already knew that she and Astoria were two of a kind, but Draco thought he’d make a show anyhow.

“Ten points to Slytherin,” he said.

Astoria, who had broken the circle and followed her cloud to the edge of the Auror’s area, quickly looked down and smiled.

“You’re not supposed to award points in class,” she whispered happily. “It’s the discretion of the professor, not the prefect.”

“Too late,” Draco said, marvelling at how difficult it was to move the next few clouds even with seven other people. Astoria had done yet another one by herself. Maybe the other students were hindering him more than helping… He hated group work that wasn’t with Astoria.

“We’ve run out of clouds. Excellent job, class,” Sinistra said. “That will be ten points to Ravenclaw and ten to Gryffindor. Slytherin, I understand, you already have yours.”

Draco and Astoria looked anywhere but at her. Professor Sinistra continued:-

“I’m going to up the ante and bring in a heavier cloud for you to practise with. Notice how the primary goal is frequently moving clouds away, but I will be moving one toward us so that you can practise with it. This demonstrates, or perhaps I should say _forecasts_ , how we will eventually be able to ‘summon’ the weather. You can imagine how useful this is. Also, with heavier clouds, it is more effective to use the incantation _nimbus momentum_.”

The class said the spell mostly together this time, but it still felt like a weight to cast it. Draco felt the continuous stream of atmospheric magic making contact with the droplets in the cloud and wondered how some people did this for a living. The pressure control alone, not to mention the constant lift and rotation of the arm, was very tiring. Adamina and Theodore, who were both lanky, looked ready to quit. Astoria, for as small as she was, was having no trouble at all now. Maybe her wacko wand was finally coming in handy.

“Tracey, please aim a little left,” Granger ordered bossily. “If you can follow where Astoria and I are, we might have this cleared in no time.”

“Good thinking, Miss Granger,” Professor Sinistra fussed once the cloud was moved. “I would like you three to practise the nimbus spell on that big one I just moved in. The rest of us will continue here.”

Sinistra knew that trio had done all the hard work and there would be no way for the rest of them to practise. But once Astoria left, the lesson became more physically tiring. Sinistra must have known the torture they were now going through, because without the overachievers, the pressure on their wands with this spell was creating an ache. There was no way little airborne water particles should be this difficult to move when they could be flown right through.

“The reason it’s difficult is because we are disrupting the natural current of the wind and creating our own pressure system. Atmospheric magic has the potential to go horribly wrong and create tornadoes or make people pressure sick. Not at this level, of course. I used to think I could use Atmospheric magic to travel space when I was little, but we’ll see…” Professor Sinistra mused.

Moving clouds was getting boring until Astoria’s group slipped up. Clearly too eager, they had manipulated a rather large rain cloud to the point that it showered, all at once, right on them. Tracey yelped, and the rest of the class could not help but laugh. The compact area of such a strong downpour, falling right on their heads and nowhere else, made it look like something from a comic strip.

“Not your day after all, Astoria?” Draco called.

“Leave her alone, Malfoy!” Granger yelled as the three girls ran out of the pond they had created.

“I don’t recall talking to you!” Draco snapped.

“Leave her alone, Draco!” Astoria said, running past him.

He just couldn’t win.

“That’s breaking school property,” Sinistra said. “We take our cloud supply very seriously.”

The trio laughed amongst themselves whilst Sinistra dried them off. Draco was grateful for the interruption so he could take a break. Theodore was hunched over with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily.

“Magic is _not_ supposed to be this physical!” he complained.

Draco had to put up with Atmospheric charms for another fifteen minutes, and then class was finally over. It wasn’t as difficult as Apparition, but that was about all he could say in its favour. There was no more dementor mist, so Draco didn’t get another chance at the extra credit with the Patronus. It wasn’t like he was going to get it right, anyway.

“I have literally never seen you this dirty,” he said to Astoria.

She still had grime all over her from the fall, and though Sinistra had tried to dry her off, she smelt of wet clothes. It was a huge contrast to her usual spotlessness. She stopped a moment to remove her robe. It helped, but it wasn’t as funny that way. He hadn’t meant it as a criticism.

The trip back was bound to have Theodore and Tracey, so Draco had to act normal even though he was in a bad mood and wanted Astoria to get him out of it. It wasn’t her responsibility to cheer him up. That wasn’t the right line of thinking and he knew it, but at least he was honest with himself. She was so good at it. Draco wished she was staying at Hogwarts over Easter holidays like he was. It wouldn’t be ideal, since he would have to explain his long absences without having schoolwork, but he wanted her all to himself before they were out of time. He thought he might even be able to finish the Vanishing Cabinet over Easter. That _would_ be ideal because he could bring in other Death Eaters without endangering random students, who would mostly be at home. But then what? Could he kill Albus Dumbledore only for the Dark Lord’s eye, without anyone else knowing? Draco was at the Dark Lord’s mercy when it came to his permission to lead a normal life. The mere three days before the holidays might be all he had left with Astoria. She was done with classes at three o’clock on Friday, and her sister only had class in the morning. That meant they would be going home that afternoon. Then, if the Dark Lord’s plan went accordingly, Astoria might wake up to news of her boyfriend having murdered somebody. Or did Draco even get to call himself her boyfriend?

“You have Le–– the thing with Sinistra tomorrow, right? From one to five.”

“One-fifteen to five, yes,” she said. “It’s gruelling.”

“Then what?”

“Oh, erm… nothing after that,” she said, and her volume went below that of Tracey and Theodore’s conversation. “Rhi and the twins have Astronomy tomorrow from 10:30 to 11:30.”

 _That_ ’ _s_ … _late_ , he thought, and his hands went cold.

The next day, Astoria and Draco were trying to leave the Great Hall together to go for a walk in the grounds. Clarke looked at him gravely when he and Astoria stood up together, forcing him to recall their conversation about Death Eaters. Then she held up some sort of broken mirror piece. Draco knew she was dirt poor, but it was kind of sad that most things she had were broken in some way or another. The mirror didn’t reflect anything, so Clarke snorted at it and shrugged. She rolled her eyes at Astoria before they left.

“Rhiannon’s sixteenth birthday was yesterday, so she thinks she is old enough to mother me,” Astoria said. “I’m already getting enough mail from my real mother.”

“About what?”

“Oh, Death Eaters and all the people they kidnap,” Astoria said crossly. “There are no Death Eaters interested in me.”

 _Well_ … _there’s one_.

“I don’t know what makes her think I am so vulnerable. Remember what Professor Sinistra said about how much trouble we would be in if we aimed Atmospheric charms anywhere but the sky? That tells me that they can be used as defensive magic. I’ll make it _rain_ Death Eaters if I’m put to it. Everyone needs to get off my case,” Astoria fumed.

“Oh, gosh…” she changed suddenly. “I’m sorry to start off on the negative already. It’s really such a nice day out. I was just irritated. Anyway, how are you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Draco said. “You can talk.”

It was always entertaining to see Astoria coming out of the shell her family had put on her. Draco probably shouldn’t have been thinking this, but there were quite a few Death Eaters he’d like to see blasted with an Atmospheric charm from Astoria. She was a little firecracker beneath all of her class and composure. But he offered her his arm, rather than his hand, because he knew she liked the old-fashioned way, too. This was the girl everyone used to make fun of for standing when the professors entered the room.

It was pleasantly cool out to Draco, though Astoria was in a scarf and gloves. It was overcast, and he wondered if Astoria would move the clouds out of the way if only to warm herself, but she didn’t bother. Draco was very curious about how her Legilimency lessons had been going and wondered how they might be different from the Occlumency training he had had with Bellatrix. …Besides all the things that would naturally be different with somebody other than Bellatrix.

“I learnt a lot in Legilimency today,” Astoria said, and Draco nearly started.

“You need to stop doing that. You make me think my Occlumency is bad.”

“Your Occlumency is opaque to me,” Astoria said.

“But I was wondering about your lessons just now.”

“It’s coincidence,” she sighed sadly. “I think I can only pick up on Rhiannon without the full technique. We’re so close, so perhaps that’s why.”

“You’re not trying to do this nonverbally and wandless, are you?”

“I ought to eventually,” Astoria said. “It’s exhausting, but I really like it now that I’m used to it. I also think it’s special to be taught by a woman. I mean, historically, witches were only trained as Legilimens so that they could understand the multitude of reasons babies cry.”

“Really? I didn’t know that,” Draco said; Professor Binns never mentioned anything interesting.

“Advanced Legilimency was reserved for wizards up until the 1500s,” she went on. “I learnt all that from my book. Professor Sinistra was taught by her friend, who is a dhampir.”

“Dhampir? Sinistra really is intense,” Draco said. “Does she let you extract your memories before rummaging about your head?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“So… which ones do you extract?”

Once he had heard himself, he knew it was the most personal question he had ever asked her. He savoured the way she looked at him. She was blushing, both from cold and embarrassment. None of this would have been imaginable when they first met. He kissed her forehead. It was a cheesy move, but he had to show her at least part of the breadth of his feelings in their short time together.

“You don’t have to tell me, Astoria.”

“Well, if I tell you a memory I extract before Legilimency lessons, you should tell me a memory you Occlude,” she said.

“Deal.”

“I always take out… Well, I always take out the time my parents called over my cousin Renshaw and sat me down and told me what a Squib was. Because I was over four years old then. And they didn’t want… erm, they didn’t want me to feel like I was alone. That’s my earliest memory in my whole life.”

“So when you say they thought you were a Squib, you mean they were one-hundred percent convinced,” Draco understood.

He had been flinging magic round since infancy. Maybe this was because her family kept Squibs in the gene pool. But Astoria herself had no Squib ancestors. It didn’t matter –– she was here now –– she was trying to tell him something very personal.

“I think that’s what started the whole ‘treat Astoria differently than Daphne’ protocol,” she said, but she was starting to struggle greatly.

“Well, hey, you’re no Squib,” he said. “And the likes of your parents would never chuck you out of the family if you were.”

“No,” she laughed. “No, they’d wall me in properly. I mean, that’s not the deepest darkest thing I take out, but it certainly makes me uncomfortable to talk about. In fact, I can’t express how nice it is to actually talk about it with… well, with you.”

Draco shrugged awkwardly.

“I always Occlude information about other people I know. But, er, I guess a deep dark story I bury would be… Psh, I don’t know if I can say it.”

“You don’t have to,” Astoria said, free of pressure and judgment. He so badly wanted to be open with somebody, and she was the one to do that with.

“I overheard an argument between my parents I never should have heard,” he said carefully.

“That can really hurt sometimes.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Well, the whole issue was –– and you can’t tell _anybody_ this, and you have to take it out of your memories during your Legilimency lessons, you hear?”

“Yes, I understand,” she said, and she stopped walking to show her appreciation of the serious topic. But Draco felt better walking for this sort of thing, and he led her forth along the path.

“Mother was crying, and I heard her say, ‘It wasn’t my idea to have a child with the Dark Lord at our doorstep.’ And I don’t remember anything else they said because I ran back down the hall. And that’s messed me up ever since because I feel like I must have been… er, you know, a mistake. Obviously my parents wanted children… they’re purebloods… but, maybe the timing wasn’t what they wanted. Like, the timing was an accident and so was I. One big accident.”

“That would be very upsetting to hear as a child. Or any time,” said Astoria.

“It was. I mean, it is. That’s why I block it out so easily.”

He felt like he was gushing all of this unwanted information on his new girlfriend. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He was always tough when he was with girls. Perhaps it was because he had to be. He felt he had to make that impression. And if Pansy heard a story like that she would simply reply, “Oh Draaaaaco, you poor thiiing. That’s so saaaad.” Yet Astoria was taking all of this in very considerately. She allowed for silence, but ultimately said:-

“Do you see the error now in your thinking?”

“What?”

“Well, the meaning of her sentence was ‘the Dark Lord shouldn’t have been at my doorstep with a baby here,’ not ‘I didn’t want a baby.’”

“I know, but she said –– oh.”

 _Oh_.

_Oh!_

“You were very young. So you remember the context closest to you. Which is, of course, the context _about_ you. But she was talking about the Dark Lord, or at least the effects he left on your family after his disappearance,” Astoria said.

Something Draco had stewed within himself for thirteen years was as plain as day to Astoria after only hearing about it second-hand. His thoughts about why he was an only child. His thoughts about why he had to be the best at everything he did. Gone. Like that. How could he have not known this?

“There, see!” she said, her voice now as light as the feeling in Draco’s heart. “You really think with the way you’re spoiled rotten that you were a mistake? Not a chance, Mis-ter Mal-foy.”

“I didn’t think it was being spoiled back then. I thought it was because we were a wealthy family. I liked the attention,” he uttered.

“I was wealthy, but the attention you and I received was out of love, Draco, not to make a good public impression like so much else in our lives is,” Astoria said matter-of-factly.

“You’re… fantastic.”

“Good. I try.”

“No, I mean it,” he said, stopping her and holding her shoulders.

He promised himself that every kiss between them would be as good as if it were their last. He never knew when their last would be. Thoughts of using his rank as Death Eater to save her life spun webs in his thoughts, twisting his goals and rearranging his already sparse morals. If he killed Albus Dumbledore, there’d be no room to argue. His family would be spared in the deed’s place. So if she’d still have him, he would not hesitate to keep her. In this kiss, she needed to taste the hundred apologies on his lips that he was already wanting to give. Maybe someday she would understand everything, even if it took Legilimency. She would understand him and why he had to do these things.

“Draco,” she said with a laugh, catching her breath.

He had originally been the one to push for their secrecy due to the war. Doing this out in the open was illogical and probably dangerous. Yes, sometimes it was exciting, but other times, it was such an inconvenience to be a dangerous person.

“Sorry,” he said. “What will the papers say? ‘Pariah Frontwitch Thrown from Stage by Bandmates.’”

“Unlikely.”

“‘Malfoy-Greengrass Relationship Starts the Apocalypse.’”

“Now that one might be a headline,” she said.

Astoria stepped left where Draco was going to go right, but he decided to follow her. The path led downward to the shoreline of the lake, where the boats were docked. Draco closely studied the ivy-covered caves along the shore out of his reawakened paranoia. It was very quiet, but anything might echo. Draco considered casting an Imperturbable Charm on the area, but he thought Astoria might take it the wrong way. His mind easily raced when he was alone with her. Astoria wandered into a small recess and stared intently at a rock.

“Is that rock being rude to you?” he said over her shoulder.

“Aren’t you funny! I’m trying to make sure I don’t scald this rock when I use the Hot Air Charm.”

“You want me to cast it?”

“No, no. I’ve got to do this in case it’s on the O.W.L.”

Astoria cast it correctly, turning the wet, mossy rock into a perfectly dry place to sit. They admired the view of the lake for a minute, then Astoria pursed her lips.

“I had to come in on the boats to be Sorted, and we had to wait all the way over there whilst the rest of you stepped into carriages. And that,” she pointed, “is where Parkinson pushed me into the lake.”

“I should have known then and saved myself the trouble,” he remarked openly. “She hasn’t bothered me since she came back. If she bothers you, let me know.”

“She hasn’t come near me. Smart of her. You must have let her down hard.”

“I had to,” Draco said. “She secretly fancies Rabastan Lestrange of all people.”

 _I shouldn’t have said that_.

“Rabastan… That explains a lot, actually. She must have talked about him frequently enough for that to become Daphne’s boggart.”

“Lestrange is Daphne’s _boggart_?” Draco clarified.

So Pansy had lost her self-control, mentioned this mental case to her friends, and turned him into Daphne’s greatest fear. It kept getting more disgusting.

“I’ve seen him,” Astoria said, “in Professor Sinistra’s memories. They were in the same class sometimes. It’s fuzzy, but I always feel her hatred for him. I mean I _physically_ feel her hatred for him. Legilimency is so strange. Have you ever tried it?”

“No, only Occlumency.”

Draco had detected how Bellatrix considered Legilimency to be some sort of divine privilege from the Dark Lord and did not dare ask her how to do it. He never knew exactly what the Dark Mark could relay back to the Dark Lord, and did not attempt the spell. The Dark Lord might take it as insurgency. One never knew.

“That makes sense, though,” Draco continued. “Sinistra cut off his ear.”

Usually people didn’t smile when they were talking about ears getting cut off, but Draco had an ever-increasing grudge against Rabastan. And, unlike Pansy, Astoria would never have any reason to wish Rabastan had all of his body parts.

“You have a concert coming up?” he changed the subject.

“In two weeks. Do you want tickets?”

“I have to stay at the castle or my mother will have a heart attack,” he said, which was partially true.

“Ah, I understand. I’m sure my parents don’t want me to do it either, but I have a contract to uphold.”

“How long are you going to stay in the band?” he asked.

Pariah was the kind of Muggle-loving group that would get too much attention from somebody trying to start a pureblood regime.

“Until they sack me, I suppose,” Astoria said, with a hint of irritation. “It’s nice to have my own spending money instead of having my parents knowing every single thing I purchase. I’ve come to like the band. Sometimes it’s a bit much, but…”

Astoria trailed off.

“You know I still worry about the attention you get, now that there are Death Eaters out of Azkaban.”

“I know, Draco. We’ve talked about it before.”

“Well, I’d like for you to take me seriously,” Draco said as gently as he could. “People are getting killed for being blood-traitors. It’s all in the news. Since your family is so wealthy, you might make good ransom in a Death Eater’s opinion. And then, because of your family’s reputation and your own involvement with Pariah, they might kill you anyway after getting paid.”

Even though it felt like the millionth time they’d talked about this, this was the very first time it looked like Astoria was mulling it over. A bit of context and a scare word like “ransom” worked much better than trying to tell her to get away from Rhiannon Clarke.

“We’re leaving the country anyway,” Astoria said, hardly loud enough to be a whisper.

Draco didn’t want her to leave, but he had been the one so certain that she couldn’t stay. She couldn’t stay and see what he had become. She had to leave whilst they still had some good memories of each other. Draco wasn’t used to this, but he tried to do what she did for him, to talk about the bright side.

“Your Ravenclaw dad will probably make you stay in school even if you’re on the run.”

“Oh yes. I know all about Beauxbatons, but I’m not sure we’d go back to France. Durmstrang’s out of the question –– they’ll be as bad there as here in no time. Sally-Anne went to Ilvermorny when the Ministry stopped providing. Manami is from Mahōtokoro, but I don’t know very much about it. It’s hard to say where I’ll end up.”

“Uagadou has a fantastic Astronomy programme,” Draco recalled from something or other Professor Sinistra had once mentioned.

“Professor Sinistra’s mother went there,” Astoria said, obviously having gained the knowledge from a Legilimency lesson. “It’s pulp-free magic.”

“…What?” Draco laughed.

“I really don’t know. That’s how her mother described it to her. Pulp-free! It’s her favourite memory of mine by far. I think she was describing the feeling of wandless magic…? Her mother taught her how to do magic with only her hands.”

It was getting later. Small, colourful frogs started croaking at the edge of the lake. They grouped together, hopping in tune with their evening song, and leapt magically across the water with no lily pads to support them. If Hagrid had ever taught students about normal magical creatures instead of all the man-eating ones, Draco might have known what the frogs actually were. He listened closely to their song before they descended into the water.

“I’m really going to miss you, Astoria,” he said.

Why did he have to say that? He had fixed the mood, and now he’d ruined it again. They were back to talking about the war.

“I’ll miss you too,” Astoria said, leaning on him. “I’m sure we’ll be back someday.”

 _If the Dark Lord doesn_ ’ _t get powerful enough to push you even further away from me_.

Draco wrapped his arm round her. He would never be able to forget how natural it felt to hold her. He did not want to end up as an old Death Eater bachelor with a chip on his shoulder like Professor Snape. Or Rabastan Lestrange for that matter. Worse yet would be trying to have a normal family life like his parents had tried so hard to do for him, with the Dark Lord at their doorstep during his mother’s pregnancy…

“I’m glad,” Astoria sniffed.

She was the opposite of glad; she had turned away from him buried her face hard into her sleeve. Draco didn’t let go of her. The girls in her class called her a cry-baby, but he didn’t want her to think she wasn’t allowed to cry.

“I’m glad you wanted to spend time with me after all… Even if it’s not for very long. I’m so glad. It’s worth it. It’s worth knowing that we had this. You’ve meant more to me than I wanted to admit before. That’s why I was always taking everything personally. I cared. I really did. I think we’ve finally grown up. We finally have something. And now… it’s not fair…”

Draco knew damn well that if she took something personally, it was his own fault for saying things about her friends. He never took insults to his family without retaliating, and to Astoria, friends were right up there with family. And not the Crabbe-is-your-distant-cousin-because-we’re-all-purebloods sort of family. This girl had a generous amount of caring in her heart. Having only a portion of it had made such a difference in Draco’s life.

Astoria was still ashamed to face him with tears, so he leaned forward and nuzzled into her hair. He searched his head for something good to say, but all he could respond with was “I’m glad too.” He used to be cool in front of her. She was the tearful one, and she was still acting cooler than he was. Astoria settled herself down, turned gently toward his awkward attempt at affection, and knew exactly how to touch him so that he felt the perfect balance of truly loved and genuinely wanted.


	21. Quennell's Waltz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my playlist is [located here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy)
> 
> Chapter 21 - "Waltz" by Eugen Doga from "My Sweet and Tender Beast."  
> This is not the kind of tune one would have for a wedding, and it's not how I imagine Quennell's Waltz to sound, but this, above all other waltzes I know, definitely reflects Astoria's emotion during the dance scene in this chapter. 
> 
> For the choreography of Quennell's Waltz, I was shamelessly inspired by the [waltz scene in "Anna Karenina" here,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9yUAzBRnZkI) in which they dance neither a perfect waltz nor a perfect mazurka. I like to think that what Draco sees as "hand flips" in Quennell's Waltz is a very rich tradition in the Greengrass family that he will someday take part in.

Astoria kept her defiant streak going when she came back to the dormitory that night, feeling like she was on top of the world. Sometime between when her roommates had retired for the evening and when she arrived, somebody had dared to etch the M-word into their door, and had charmed it to ooze a foul-smelling muck. Astoria didn’t tell her friends what had happened to their door when she walked in. She could take care of this problem herself.

“Flora, may I please borrow your book on hexes?” was the first thing she said, and all of her roommates assumed that something had gone wrong with Draco. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

“Do you mean my book on jinxes?” Flora asked, which was, all things considered, the more conscientious option.

“Oh I meant hexes,” Astoria said with flair.

“As requested…” Flora sighed and the book landed in Astoria’s hands.

“Did he––?” Rhiannon started.

“It’s not him,” Astoria said, flipping to the hex index to see what she could do about this awful writing on their door.

There was a whole chapter on responding to graffiti, libel, and other defilement of personal property. Flora’s penchant for Knockturn Alley shopping was quite handy for tonight’s order of business. Astoria found a neat little hex, practised the wand motion, and sneaked out the door when Rhiannon did not have her eye on it. Astoria first used a counter-hex that they had learnt the previous year (without any help from Umbridge) to fill in the carvings from the door. As the mahogany wood was restored to its usual beauty, the dark goo from the culprit’s spell fell to the floor.

“ _Prior venare_ ,” she said, pointing at the slime.

Without a trace of loyalty to the original conjurer, the muck lifted from the floor and zipped, as a viscous unit, down the hall. Astoria couldn’t help herself. She ran after it to watch what would happen. Staying at a safe distance, she saw that the slime had made its way under the crack of Rhiannon’s old roommates’ door. Astoria bolted back to her room and locked the door tight with her wand.

“Didja get ’em?” Rhiannon asked, still thankfully clueless as to what had happened.

A scream of anger got louder and louder as the victim ran after Astoria. Soon, fists pounded on their dormitory door with full force. Astoria knew that whoever it was would run to Snape, who would know exactly what happened without even asking. She might not get in trouble. It sounded like Imogen Stretton’s voice attempting to use some more profanity at them, but the muck had evidently got to her mouth and she started to spit, stammer, and cough rather than cuss. Imogen’s scurrying footsteps grew faint, and the girls enjoyed the rest of their night reading up on hexes and eating sweets.

Astoria did not see Draco at breakfast, but she spent most of the next evening with him upon his delightful insistence. They wandered the castle aimlessly, with Draco telling her all sorts of stories she had never heard, such as the haunting of the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade and how he had accidentally angered a staircase so much during his stint in the Inquisitorial Squad that it dissolved in thin air. Then he asked her why Imogen Stretton was so convinced that the hexing she had received yesterday had come from Astoria’s room.

“I was the one who hexed her,” Astoria said, and to make an example of Stretton, added, “because she carved the M-word into our door.”

“You’re looking at me like I was the one who did it!” Draco said. “You should know I happen to have a Muggle-born friend now.”

 _Oh, please_. Astoria had never seen Draco in the presence of a Muggle-born in a friendly context. Not once.

“What, like a pen-pal? Where do they live?” Astoria asked sceptically.

“Well, she’s dead, but she’s a ghost here.”

“So you have one Muggle-born friend and she’s dead. Do you realise how bad that sounds?”

“That does sound pretty bad.”

“It’s Myrtle, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s Myrtle.”

“I’m sort of friends with her, too,” Astoria said. “I met her through Rhiannon. They were both attacked by the basilisk.”

Draco got rather pale.

“I did not know that.”

“Well, I wouldn’t bring it up, even if you’re especially chummy.”

“No. I won’t,” he said.

Neither Astoria nor Draco wanted to admit that they had no idea where they were in the castle. They had seen what was likely the Alchemy classroom about ten minutes ago, but even that wasn’t very helpful to them. Usually, there would be Peeves, Mr Filch and Mrs Norris, other Prefects, or Aurors to “help” with navigation.

“We’re back on the third floor,” Draco recognised first. “There’s the bridge.”

This was the bridge that looked nearly ready to fall, which spanned part of the mountain. It was Rhiannon and Hestia’s favourite place to go during Astoria’s double Ancient Runes. The odd thing was there was not very much on the other side except a spot overlooking the forest. It must have served a different purpose in days gone by. Astoria imagined Salazar Slytherin teaching Flying lessons to his first students by pushing them off the crevice over there.

The view, as well as the old bridge itself, were both beautiful, with white mist rolling in the hills and caverns as the evening began to cool. The clouds weren’t right for a spectacular sunset, but Astoria admired the gold light seeping through their heavy blue. Outdoor curfew was much earlier than usual this year, but Astoria and Draco stayed outside until the last possible minute, admiring the nesting calls of birds and the creeping dusk along the grounds’ tree-lined paths.

“Which O.W.L. was the most difficult?” Astoria asked as they continued their wandering inside.

“History of Magic because of the big scene Potter made by passing out. It distracted everybody. You won’t have that problem.”

Astoria’s train of thought crashed into anxiety for no particular reason; the clean mist they had seen over the bridge had not been dementor breeding grounds. Yet she felt that she and Draco had a tendency to talk about the war, school, or their own deep existential doubt. They had plenty of time before they had to meet for Astronomy at ten-thirty. She wanted to talk about all the fun and inconsequential things in life, but had no idea where to start.

“Draco, what’s your favourite colour?”

 _What a silly question_. _He_ ’ _s going to think you_ ’ _re a five-year-old_.

“Black,” he said, thankfully open to this kind of small talk. “Does that sound like I’m trying to be hardcore? I just think it’s very sleek and neutral.”

“Yeah, black goes with anything. I like a light green best,” Astoria said.

“Not Slytherin green, though.”

“No, none of the Houses’ shades. I see them too much.”

“Is there a Greengrass green?”

“Yes, it’s on our coat of arms. It’s more of a dark teal.”

“Not grass-green?”

“No, actually.”

“Astoria Tealgrass… hm… Sounds wrong.”

“I wonder why.”

“At least people know how to spell your name. I was Draco Malofy on Professor Trelawney’s roster for the first six weeks of Divination.”

“Did she call you that aloud?”

“No, but it showed up on all of the papers she passed out.”

“Max Manson always calls me Astræa only to irritate me.”

“Max… Oh, isn’t he the Dark wizard in your class?”

“He thinks he is, but Flora would beat him in a Dark arts fight.”

“She’s not setting curses in your dorm, is she? I’ll have to have a talk with her. It’s a protective boyfriend sort of thing.”

“No, she’s very protective of the rest of us, but I appreciate it. You let me know if your roommates give you trouble, and I’ll duel them properly.”

“Goyle farts in his sleep and wakes the rest of us up at least once a week. Can you do anything about that?”

“I’m afraid not… Have you tried sound-proofing his pyjama pants?”

“No. Hey, you laugh, but I’m honestly going to try that next time he’s out of the dorm. Smell-proofing him might be more difficult.”

“I don’t blame you. See, our problem is that _one_ of us snores terribly. But we cannot Silence somebody sleeping because it’d be dangerous in case there’s a problem.”

“It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the snorer.”

“I am not the snorer.”

“How do you know you’re not a snorer?”

“Flora would have told me. She doesn’t sleep.”

“ _Ever_? Must be one of her Dark arts things. Her eyes wax over after you all fall asleep and she summons things out of the lake.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if she had control over the things in that lake.”

“Do you like to swim, Astoria?”

“Er, not in the lake!”

“We used to own a holiday home in Mallorca. The algae don’t try to eat you there.”

“That sounds lovely.”

“It was more crowded than Father liked.”

“Grand-père has an Unplottable island in France we go to sometimes. He’s tried to convince us to hold the Equinox there before, but Grandfather Greengrass said no. It almost caused a fight.”

“Unplottable island… _nice_.”

“It is very nice.”

“That equinox was today, wasn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, I’ll be hearing all about it when I go home. Professor Sinistra will probably try to see who’s remembered besides me.”

“Well, the sun is crossing the celestial equator. That’s why we have even daylight and darkness. Maybe I can actually surprise Sinistra.”

“Forget Professor Sinistra –– _I_ love it when you talk astronomy,” Astoria tittered.

“There’s more where that came from… er, the moon is in apogee. So it will not be as bright even though it’s full.”

“Oh, do continue,” Astoria joked, though she was genuinely impressed.

“Mars has been in…” he paused for effect, then whispered sultrily in her ear, “ _opposition_.”

“It’s at perigee tonight,” Astoria murmured back. “The very _closest_.”

They started laughing and couldn’t look at each other, but then Draco came back closely to her side, and she felt flustered again.

“I’ve heard your Vernal Equinox dances are very strange,” he said. “Lots of lifting and weird hand positions.”

“Who told you they were strange?” Astoria asked, guest lists spiralling through her mind.

“My mother saw it first-hand before,” said Draco pompously. “But I’ve also heard rumours.”

Astoria figured that if he could listen to comments from his mother, then he could listen to the actual explanation of the dances.

“The main dance of the evening is called Quennell’s Waltz. There’s a standard for guests,” she said, “but married couples each have a different choreographed dance determined through arithmancy upon their engagement. So it becomes more than rotary and change steps for the family.”

“Do you realise how complicated that is?” he laughed. “I’m all for family traditions, but that’s a bit much.”

Astoria firmly disagreed, “No, it’s spectacular to watch, and the parents of the Greengrass are involved in choreographing for the new couple so that nobody’s moves are copied. It’s a blessing process. Uncle Faunus and Aunt Elly have been having the time of their lives helping Renshaw’s new wife learn to dance. So, what we do is break down the parties’ full names with arithmancy. My name is very long, but it all comes down to the number one. This would not be good for me if I didn’t like to dance.”

“Why not? What’s that got to do with it?” he asked.

“One is the lowest value in this method, and the Greengrass spouse always has more leading hand moves than their partner. That must be what your mother thinks is so strange; the lead alternates. The number from your name determines how many moves you lead in the dance. Sometimes, the numbers are traded, and sometimes they are kept. My number would inevitably be traded with my partner, you see, because it’s as low as it gets, and I am a Greengrass. Wait one moment,” Astoria said, unrolling a piece of parchment in the nearest window sill.

She wrote examples that had come to mind that would illustrate how the dance moves were determined.

**Grandpa – 4, Grandma – 3.**

“So,” she said, as Draco hovered over her shoulder, “Grandfather, the Greengrass, does not trade here. His number is greater than Grandmother’s, so he has four leading moves for every three of hers. It worked out.”

**Father – 2, Maman– 2.**

“There’s no trade here, and they each have two leading moves. Their dance has a low total of four cycling hand moves, along with the standard dance. It’s a little boring in my opinion.”

**Me – 1.**

“Now, does it make sense? I would trade the number of moves with anybody whose name calculates to greater than one, because I’m the Greengrass. They make me lead more. The _least_ interesting dance of all would consist of two choreographed moves if a number-one married another number-one.”

Though she only ever partook in the standard waltz, Astoria and all the other young Greengrasses were fascinated with the concept of having a personalised dance at the Equinox. Draco looked closely at it, resisted the urge to mutter “how tortuous” louder than he did, and then asked her what his arithmanceutical number would be. It made Astoria’s heart skip; he apparently did not understand the direction he was taking the conversation. Using another piece of parchment, Astoria wrote out his full name and calculated it. Her hand was already starting to shake before she finished the calculation. It was nine. The highest –– the most fun.

“Well, your name comes out to nine. So that would mean, er, a Greengrass would have nine leading hand positions with you at this dance, because we always have more,” Astoria said as steadily as she could.

“Yes, that’s what you said about yours being number one. So… I’m still trying to understand this weird dance of yours… That would mean if _we_ danced at this thing, you would have nine hand flips for each one of mine?”

Draco flipped his hands as though he were swatting insects, saying, “How does that even work? People say it looks like arms fly everywhere when you do this.”

“They’re not hand flips, Draco,” she said, her heart in her throat. “They’re dance moves, that’s all. It’s choreographed upon engagement.”

Was he really missing the part about how people did not get personalised dances unless they were marrying? These dances were used at the Equinox celebration for the rest of the couple’s life. It was not to be taken lightly. The history was centuries old.

“I guess I’d have to be there. I don’t get all the arithmancy. A waltz is a waltz.”

“Pretend we are dancing,” she said to illustrate the point, taking his hands and ushering him into the nearest classroom. “Now in an extreme case, where there is a nine and a one––”

“Are we considered an extreme case?” he paused her, smiling.

 _Do not do this to me_ , _Draco Malfoy_ …

Astoria cleared her throat, saying, “Yes. I would have nine leading hand moves, and I determine the natural and reverse turns in the waltz. At the tenth move, it would be your directive. Most people with a large ratio opt for a twirl or lift at that point, because it makes the count reset in an obvious way. That would be where your mother saw lifts in some places and not others. It would probably look confusing to a guest.”

“But it doesn’t have to be a spin or a lift.”

“No, that’s just customary with large ratios.”

“Well, I’d have to see it. Are you going to teach me or what?”

Astoria now doubted his pronounced lack of understanding. Instead of looking clueless, Draco had been very attentive. She was so nervous. This was _never_ done. Choreographing was a painstaking process to ensure everything looked good in the waltz line and nobody collided. _Never_ was this sort of example given to somebody outside of the family. Yet Astoria had enough knowledge to provide the example, if she would only stop shaking from the nerves. She frantically sought her memories for individual moves, chopping them up to try to avoid plagiarism. It wasn’t enough. She wanted something unique.

There was no family here. It was only them. She could have demonstrated the very same point with the most basic of dance forms, yet her mind continued to race for something creative, and she found herself placing the back of her hand into the palm of his. With no actual pull, she drew him forward. That was move one. They paused. She sorted her thoughts.

Their thumbs were opposite each other. Nobody started this way. It would be fine… she extended their arms far left and grabbed his hand –– move two served to correct the unusual start.

She slowly brought in their hands, elbows out, above her heart.

“That would be three moves there, for example.”

Nobody ever danced this way! If her parents were there, they would say it was gauche. Actually, they would have more to say than that. An unengaged Greengrass butchering Quennell’s Waltz with dance moves pulled from thin air. Disgraceful.

“Move four.”

She pushed forth her arm as far as it would go, forcing him to step back. This would be easier if they were actually dancing. The melody of the waltz had been in her heart all her life, but there was no music. Draco did not mention that when she started the dance. She was disgraceful, disgraceful.

“Five.”

She finally brought her left arm and his right to a normal level in a twist, but she had never given him her right palm.

“Six,” she put their palms together and simply enjoyed the waltz.

“Seven,” she crossed their arms into an “x.”

“Eight,” they rolled their arms out and resumed standard position.

“Nine.”

She extended her left arm over his shoulder. It would take so little for her to move and touch his cheek from there, but she refrained. The tenth move was up to him. It was Draco Malfoy she was dealing with here, so she could only brace herself for some bizarre lift that was out of time, or a showy twirl. To her wonder, though, he simply used his move to place both of their free hands behind his back. That was it. It was her lead again, and she nearly panicked trying to remember all that she had done. She didn’t want to undo the move he had chosen, so they began to repeat a similar pattern with only their free hands. It was so much easier now that they were actively dancing. It was so much closer with her hand at his back, even if others’ waltzes never looked like this. Only at move seven, when they crossed their arms, did she free their arms to the front. Move eight, they uncrossed their arms. Move nine, her left arm went over his shoulder.

“Your move.”

He switched the established move and instead placed both hands behind her back. It was peculiar; the moves were usually repeated exactly. Here, they had done the same thing but switched the hold. She kept thinking of how most couples utilised both arms throughout the entire dance. He had totally altered the pattern. He didn’t know. He hadn’t seen other dances. And yet…

“…Eight, nine, your move.”

They went behind his back again, taking turns. Astoria felt it then, even with Draco’s inscrutable expression. They were deliberately inhibiting each other’s range of motion, and it would look purposely different from everything else in the waltz line. Their hands were in a carefully balanced hold between the sacred tradition of the dance and a brazen rejection of it. He had sabotaged the pattern she had established by choosing this as his move, but at the same time, he had forced himself into an even more limited stance. She loved the close hold of their dance. And when other nine-to-one couples might make a show of the last move, Draco would draw the eyes of others in a different way. They were totally entangled with each other.

Astoria felt like she was reading into it too much at first, yet they couldn’t stop dancing even though there was no music. She wanted to get the muscle memory of their pattern. Draco was telling her something. This was not the waltz’s history; this was _their_ history. He was showing her that he wanted her to have the agency her family so feared. The Greengrasses and the Malfoys would never rise together. Even the dance was an exchange of power. Where one family found clout and influence, the other always found danger and loss. Astoria and Draco, though, would not be bound by this their whole lives. They would claw their way out.

“So, with this dance, eighteen moves would be the most you could have, and the least would be two,” he figured. “I think ten’s a good number. More than this would be hard to remember.”

Remembering this dance she had pulled out of nowhere could haunt Astoria in the future. She would always prefer this one, their creation, to one her parents would influence per tradition. She would always remember the one she created on her own, having feared her Equinox dance would be boring like her parents’ with her low number. Astoria’s nervous shaking finally brought her to a halt, and she was forced to say explicitly that this dance was extraordinarily important to her family’s marriage customs. It was not used for anything else.

“I’m sorry I made this awkward,” he answered with but a trace of anxiety compared to hers. “We don’t have anything like this in my family.”

He had not let go of her completely, and his warm hand remained tight on her own, which was clammy and trembling.

“Thanks for showing me this. You have to admit that it’s a bit of an odd process, though. I wasn’t entirely wrong.”

“It’s just tradition,” she mumbled for the umpteenth time.

“Well, I like that we made it ours,” he smiled.

“Oh, well, er…”

“You’re _really_ frazzled, Astoria.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Come here.”

Astoria did not like how much more obvious it made her juddering, but she never turned down a kiss. Draco’s robes must have been freshly laundered even though it was only Thursday –– he smelled very nice. Her body almost calmed.

“…Are you smelling my clothes?” he asked.

“No,” she lied.

Draco made a wild demonstration of burying his face in her shoulder and saying, “Yes, you are. You’re going – ‘ _Sniff_! _Nnngh_ , that’s the stuff.’”

“You’re the one playing piano keys on my back!” she returned.

“That’s nothing. That’s a nervous habit.”

“I make you nervous.”

“Yeah, when you’re sniffing me like that.”

“Oh my gosh.”

Astoria almost forgot that they were supposed to be hiding their relationship when they arrived in the Entrance Hall for Astronomy. Even though their secret was a matter of safety for both families, it was sometimes difficult to keep it that way. It was funny, in a way, to think that You-Know-Who would be so preoccupied with the relationships that Death Eaters’ teenaged children got into. It made him seem like an unnecessarily thorough tyrant with too much free time.

Astoria excelled in Atmospheric Charms that night. She wondered aloud to Draco whether it had more to do with the Equinox or Mars’s perigee. She guessed the Equinox.

“Don’t you ever give _yourself_ credit for anything?” he responded, but it was difficult to do that when so much had been decided for her in the interest of others.

Professor Sinistra had charged Astoria with finishing her Legilimency book before Easter holidays, so after class, Astoria made sure to tell Professor Sinistra that she had successfully finished the last chapter. The chapters had been guarded, and had increasing difficulty for the reader, so having completed the book was a source of pride for Astoria. Maybe she could give herself some credit for it, like Draco said.

“Good,” Professor Sinistra said. “When you come back, I can start you with Volume Two.”

“What‽ There’s more?” Astoria exclaimed.

“Of course there’s more, dear! Legilimency is an ancient and advanced art. You can’t simply read one book and call yourself a Legilimens.”

There went Astoria’s credit.

~

Easter holidays were very busy for the Greengrasses. For one thing, few family members had left Quennell Park after the Equinox, and in spite of the grand size of the mansion, it felt rather crowded. Astoria knew that Rhiannon felt wholly out of place, yet the duty of keeping her amused was similarly unbefitting for Astoria. She was more concerned with the conversations the elders in her family were having. Very few of them agreed on where the family should relocate, and even fewer agreed upon when.

Aunt Laureline was especially anxious to leave, whilst Astoria’s grandparents and parents preferred to “get everything in order first.” Gringotts bank must have been mentioned a hundred times, and how the family might move all of their stuff was being outlined in great detail. Astoria’s father had brought her and Daphne into his study to talk during the first week of the holidays. They were told, in a falsely casual tone, to pack up anything they would not absolutely need for the rest of the school year. He went great lengths to emphasise that there was no rush. Astoria was left wondering why they did not expedite their departure. Surely other schools could provide her with Ordinary Wizarding Levels. Rhiannon had not been part of the talk, since she did not own very many things in comparison, but Astoria explained it to her anyway. Rhiannon helped Astoria pack up more unneeded items –– occasionally reminding Astoria that she hadn’t _needed_ something in the first place –– and they gave the boxes to her grandfather. Astoria felt that she had a right to know where her possessions were going (even if they were not, as Rhiannon said, the bare necessities), but her father utterly refused to say. He must have been weary of word spreading about where they were going to evacuate.

It did not take very long for Astoria to notice that her cousin Renshaw’s new wife was very distressed. Astoria could not imagine this debacle going on so soon after her wedding, and sympathised with this young lady who was stuck in the estate and had not even had a proper honeymoon. Gracie was a Muggle, quite aware of what her marriage to a Squib would entail, but she often looked shy and embarrassed no matter what she was doing. Astoria hardly knew her, but she could tell that Gracie hadn’t been upper-class. It was like when Rhiannon first arrived at the estate, except Gracie didn’t have the advantage of fitting in with magic. As soon as Renshaw left her side, Gracie always became very timid. Astoria offered to take her for a walk in the grounds after church on Easter Sunday, and Gracie looked like she only accepted because she was afraid to say no. Astoria tried to gauge whether Rhiannon was interested in coming on the walk with them. She thought perhaps Rhiannon would know cultural nuances that could make Gracie feel better in a way Astoria could not hope to do. However, Rhiannon was totally consumed with preparing for the upcoming concert and did not accept the invitation.

Astoria had never talked to a Muggle before and suddenly wished she had opted for Muggle Studies instead of Ancient Runes, which she wasn’t very good at. Gracie was a pasty girl of twenty years, with big blonde curls and rough hands. She had an accent Astoria did not always understand and used several Muggle-specific words in conversation, which left Astoria saying a noncommittal “M-hmm” more times than she would have liked. Ironically, though, Gracie claimed that Astoria was the first person besides Renshaw to understand her when she talked. Really, Astoria only understood the girl when she was looking her right in the face.

Astoria was nowhere near using Legilimency in either a wandless or nonverbal way, and certainly not both. Maybe Gracie’s being a Muggle had something to do with the ease of sensing her foremost thoughts. Astoria did not know what Legilimency would be like with her Squib relatives because she was never left struggling to understand their speech. This was coming to her in a frighteningly natural way, but it couldn’t be the right thing to do. Gracie would have no way of ever defending herself with Occlumency. How else was Astoria supposed to understand this girl and help her feel better, though? Legilimency was only a Dark art if it was used in a Dark way, and it was awfully rude _not_ to make eye contact with Gracie when she talked. Still, Astoria did not like that the further she delved into Legilimency, the harder it was to shut it down. The world must be so loud for Professors Sinistra and Snape.

“Ren says you lot don’t ever hunt in these backwoods,” Gracie said after a rabbit fearfully crossed their path.

“No, we consider these woods to be sacred,” Astoria said.

“Ah, yeah. He said that too.”

Astoria was picking up on Gracie’s condescension. The idea that she, a Muggle, thought she had superior knowledge about what was or was not considered sacred really slighted Astoria, but she remembered what Professor Sinistra said about Legilimens losing friends by not giving anyone the benefit of the doubt. Gracie had been shy and nervous for most of the time; she probably just didn’t understand their beliefs.

“You got stables back here somewhere, I heard.”

“Yes, up that way. Would you like to see them?”

“It’s, er… horse stables, yeah?”

“Yes, we have some fine Thoroughbreds for polo. There’s usually a game right before the Equinox. I take it there wasn’t this year.”

“Nah, I wanted a small wedding, believe it or not. Ren said this _was_ small for you lot. I can’t complain. I didn’t have to worry about catering or none of that with your little elves. That’s why I wanted to make sure we were on the same page about what was in them stables.”

“It’s only horses, I promise,” Astoria chuckled.

“You ride?”

“I, er… I feed them.”

“You mean you don’t ride? If you can ride a broom, you can ride a horse.”

“I, erm…”

“No brooms neither? Hell, Astoria, I thought I was the quiet one here. You know, I had the feeling that you lot thought I was taking Renshaw away from you. You’re all welcome to visit the farm.”

“I’m sorry the family has given you that impression. We’ve never married Muggles, so to have one of our own move into Muggle society might have been stressful on Uncle Faunus and Aunt Elly. They shouldn’t be taking it out on you, though. Renshaw will do perfectly well in the Muggle world.”

“Well, I don’t blame ’em. Can’t say my family’s used to marrying wizards! But I’ll take good care of Ren. He doesn’t cast any spells or anything, except the one he cast on me!”

Gracie was really opening up on this walk, so Astoria was glad to have been of help. Renshaw, for as kind as he was, probably was not as in tune with the differences between a Squib raised in Wizarding society and a true Muggle. Things he thought were no big deal could have been stressful to Gracie, who was very thankful to do something “normal” like horse riding.

“What’s your name, there, boy?” Gracie said in a baby voice to the first horse in the first stable.

“That’s Summanus,” Astoria said. “He’s a stallion. The geldings are over here if you’d prefer an easier trip. We have more stables, too.”

“No, he’ll do. Think he’ll mind if I call him Sam?”

“He won’t mind.”

Astoria did her best not to make a fool of herself in front of Gracie when she mounted Kauriraris, the gentlest horse they owned, who was past his sporting days and now a gelding. She had seen her father and Uncle Faunus do this all the time, but Uncle Faunus taught his children, and Astoria’s father had not. All of Astoria and Daphne’s skills with horses had come from watching, learning, and sneaking out to the stables with Rhiannon.

“You didn’t get to meet Granddad when you was in school,” said Gracie as they rode along the fence-edge of the estate. “He’s the only one I could trust to come. I’m not close with my family like you lot are. I grew up with Granddad, and I told him when I met Renshaw, these people are wizards! And you know what he said?”

“I’m not sure,” Astoria said, though she had a fair idea by looking in Gracie’s eyes.

“He said, ‘Does that mean your sweet’s going to help us on the farm? Rain-dance it?’ And I said, no Granddad, he don’t have magic himself. And you know what he said?”

“What did he say?” Astoria humoured her.

“He said, ‘Well pick a _real_ wizard out of them, Gracie! I’m gettin’ old and need help!’”

“Everyone warms up to Renshaw eventually, though,” Astoria said.

“Oh, yeah, he was just teasing. He loves him, and so do I. I’d love him the same if he were a magic wizard. Ren’s always said he’s a Squib, but that don’t make any difference to me. I wouldn’t have known if he wouldn’t have told me. But, you know, if he were magic, I’d probably feel useless round the house. You lot just wave a wand and chant some mumbo-jumbo and _poof_!”

“It’s often not as easy as _poof_ , I’ve found,” Astoria said. “Plus, we can’t use magic outside of school until seventeen unless there’s plenty of it happening round us.”

“I mean, if I had magic as a kid, I’d raise holy hell, so I can see why that’s not allowed.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Speaking of holy hell, there’s something creepy happening up there,” Gracie said uncomfortably as she witnessed a patch of roses wither and fall clean off the bushes.

“Oh, yes, that’s Quennell. I might go see him. You can stay back here if you like.”

“Who’s Quennell? Like Quennell Park? Like… a ghost? God, I always said the old farmhouse Granddad and I live in was haunted! Granddad doesn’t believe me because I’ve never seen one, but I _know_ there’s ghosts there! Now look at me. Watching ghosts and talking to witches.”

“It’s plenty to do in one day,” Astoria smirked.

“Can I come with you? I don’t know if I could get near a ghost again without a witch by me. Usually I think of ghosts popping out in old cellars. But the horses ain’t scared a bit. In the old horror films, you always know there’s a spook or monster when the horses start carrying on. Oh, shite, I spoke too soon.”

Summanus started snorting, whinnying, and getting harder to control. He had been trained very well for sports and almost never startled, but there was no mistake that he did not like the impression of Quennell. Fortunately for Astoria and her lack of skill, her horse Kauriraris was totally unmoved.

“Actually, Gracie, I’ll have to ask you to take Summanus back there and tie him off if you can. Yes –– way back there where he’ll settle down. You can still meet me down here if you want. I promise I won’t leave you out in the woods.”

“How’d you know what I was thinking?”

_Your emotions are so loud!_

“Intuition.”

“Roger that.”

_Who is Roger? Roger what?_

Gracie handled Summanus extremely well, so well that he seemed to have run off his fear by the time they crested the hill. She dismounted him like a professional. Astoria did not want to look like she was supervising, but she felt partially responsible for Gracie’s safety since she was a Muggle. That was the feeling Astoria’s parents must have had when they thought she had been a Squib.

Astoria was able to ride Kauriraris right up to where Quennell was standing without the slightest problem. She tied him securely and comfortably to a tree.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Astoria said.

Quennell appeared as a man in his mid-thirties. He was unlike the ghosts at Hogwarts in many ways, but Astoria had yet to figure out all the reasons why. Although Quennell appeared translucent and glowed very faintly, he was not washed in silver-blue throughout. In fact, he had a nice head of dark hair, a pale but not deathly complexion, and tidy brown breeches. Although Astoria could not see a single wound on his body, he was an arresting figure even compared with the Bloody Baron due to his lack of eyes. The eye holes had been the only reason Astoria would have ever listened to her parents about staying away from him, but she found his company very rewarding after having looked past the issue. Quennell always wore his deep red doublet open, revealing a fashionable shirt with blackwork embroidery. His breeches were held to his doublet by a collection of colourful jewelled aiguillettes that still shimmered in the sun. His overall appearance, though unsettling, hinted that he had been a very handsome man. His most prominent feature was the huge pointed hat he wore, with its brim spanning out past his shoulder width and often covering the eye sockets, which he was aware were upsetting to see. He removed it and held it to his chest upon Astoria’s approach, but he kept his eyelids closed until the hat shielded their caverns once more. He had a very hoarse and present voice rather than a hollow, echoing one typical of other ghosts.

“Today is Easter, my dearest. Why are you not with your family?”

“I am with family,” she said readily. “Renshaw the eleventh has married a woman named Gracie. We are out riding today. And are you not my family?”

“I know of Renshaw –– I have overseen the Equinox. That is all I can do to say I am family to you and your kin.”

Quennell was never once seen floating and instead stepped torturously along the stone path. He was prone, however, to speaking ill of himself, which Astoria pointedly did not acknowledge.

“You have become a Legilimens, Miss Astoria.”

“I am trying to become one, sir. Are you a Legilimens?”

“I gravely wish I had been,” he said. “However, I sense what commences in the House of Greengrass, big and small.”

A rare trace of disgust began to taint Quennell’s expression, and he said, “Oh, my dearest, you have also become engaged… Or is that why you have sought me here today?”

“I’m sorry, sir. You must be mistaken. I’m not engaged,” Astoria said anxiously.

Did this have something to do with her reinventing the marriage waltz with Draco? If the spirit was able to detect that, she must have done something wrong.

“I see now,” Quennell said, his wet eye sockets coming into view.

He should have said he _knew_ and not _saw_ , since those pools did not seem like sight blessed them. Gracie was coming back at the worst possible time. Astoria preferred this conversation to be private, or to be not happening at all…

“Miss Astoria, behold this Muggle,” Quennell said upon her arrival, and the change in his air caused Gracie to feel less brave about being near a ghost. “She knows nothing of our strictures, and yet she has brought herself here to be wed, to obey our traditions. I only ask that you take her, a Muggle, as an example of the strength of the custom. There is to be no exception. You must not be so quick to share the custom unless you mean to bring the man here on the day of the Equinox. No, do not fret so terribly, Miss Astoria. I simply cannot have you eloping based on your parents’ disapproval. You must be here, with me, on _that_ day. It has been on your mind.”

“It was on my mind, sir, but I will uphold our tradition,” Astoria said above the volume of Gracie’s confusion and fear.

“It is not that you will; it is that you must,” said Quennell, but he had settled down.

Gracie finally comprehended that there was nothing wrong, but she was already so frightened that Astoria thought it was best to leave. Astoria apologised once more to Quennell and bid him good day. She and Gracie both got on Kauriraris together and rode to the top of the hill to retrieve Summanus and finish their excursion. Upon their return, Rhiannon quickly got on Astoria’s nerves about preparing for the concert in four days. There was no harm in rehearsing, but it was not very beneficial without Flora and Hestia, either.

The twins were staying at Hogwarts for Easter Holidays, but Mr Mongaby was going to escort them to the In.fine.it. venue in Diagon Alley to perform. Rhiannon had been especially nervous about what time they would arrive, so Astoria reminded her that it was likely they would be there early since they were with the manager, and Astoria and Rhiannon were with protective parents. On the day of the concert, Rhiannon and Astoria held tight to Astoria’s mother for side-along Apparition to Diagon Alley. They had to be there three hours before the doors opened, not because it was necessary, but because Mr Mongaby said so.

“Good news,” Mongaby said. “We filled more seats than we expected.”

“Expected because of the war?” Rhiannon asked.

“Er, yes,” Mongaby said, looking at an important chart. “Anyway, the rest of the seats will still be available at the door.”

The conversation went on forever about what not to do, what to do, and when to do it. Astoria was half-listening. She was thinking about the articles she had read in _Witch Weekly_ about The Weird Sister’s concert tickets being sold in connection with an Undetectable Extension Charm. The size of the venue for Pariah, though, had been set. The higher-ups in the company were trying to see what proportion of pre-arranged seats were going to fill. That, combined with the fact that her mother was in the audience, depressed Astoria’s mood. Hestia and Rhiannon, though, were having the time of their lives exploring the venue. Astoria and Flora warmed up instead.

“We’re opening with ‘My Root Doctor,’ Astoria. You ready on that one?” Rhiannon interjected when Astoria started playing ‘I Swear This Helps.’”

That was Rhiannon’s hint that Astoria hadn’t performed that to her liking. "My Root Doctor" was a very fast-paced song, and Astoria admitted sometimes she did not breathe correctly during it, which took away from the performance. She was going to do it right this time, though. "Root Doctor" was a songwriting collaboration between Rhiannon and Hestia, and it was Pariah’s first truly narrative song that had not been inspired by their own lives. Rhiannon and Hestia came up with the song after some powerful lessons from Professor Burbage in their Muggle Studies class about respecting others’ cultures, and not appropriating from them, because not all magic looks the same.

The chorus was exhausting to sing, which had been Rhiannon’s goal in order to produce the raw emotion by the end to demonstrate the narrator’s disillusionment with society. “My Root Doctor” was catchy and had become a wireless favourite not long after “Ashes,” and Rhiannon took pride in getting people to sing along to songs with important themes. Astoria figured she was overdue in giving more passion to the performance, and tried to imagine Renshaw and Gracie facing societal problems for no good reason. She wasn’t sure the audience ever got the point of this song, though, since she had not been educated on the subject, either.

Although there was no Extension Charm on the theatre, Astoria could not complain about the turnout. People were really filling in to come and see them, even though they only had a small dedicated fanbase. It made Astoria’s heart flutter, even though she could not identify any of her friends in the heavy crowd. They were out there. She was sure of it. Although Astoria did not understand all of the intricacies of the opening song that Rhiannon and Hestia had woven, she had the audience jumping along with her.

Rhiannon had no complaints about the execution of the song after that, and the rest of the show went very smoothly. Mongaby had the girls meet him backstage to go over figures of ticket sales, and though Astoria appreciated the update, she was again finding her attention hard to keep. Still energised from the concert, she soon had trouble distinguishing her excitement from disquiet. It felt like she was being watched backstage, and it wasn’t by the frightening-looking wizards from Cannibal Coven, who getting ready for their set. Mr Mongaby was about to talk to the girls about the next concert, when Flora put her hand up to stop him, and he looked rather affronted.

“Did you pre-order tickets or buy them at the door?” Flora asked loudly toward the ceiling.

Astoria clenched her jaw and her fists, but she was fooling nobody by trying to look tough. Flora and Hestia’s aunt was sitting in the rafters of the stage like some sort of arboreal animal. For her stout build, Alecto was quite acrobatic, and flipped herself upside-down over the beam, held only by her knees. She had to have been supporting herself by magic…

“Oh, I’m your biggest fan, my little flower. I pre-ordered.”

Mr Mongaby looked entirely unsure of what to do with himself, and rather than recognising Alecto as a threat (or perhaps because he _did_ ), he stepped solidly backward to give her a place to land on the floor in front of them. Hestia stepped in front of Rhiannon, and Flora stepped in front of Astoria. It was sad how quickly the twins assumed these positions, even though no one was going to draw their wand in this environment. Astoria’s mother might, though, if she arrived.

“Where’s Amycus?” Flora asked.

“He couldn’t bear to come,” Alecto sneered. Then she looked at Mongaby and forcibly shook his hand.

“You must be Mr Mongaby. I’m Alecto, the twins’ aunt. I’ll be taking them home, so you don’t have to Apparate them back to school.”

“I was told––” Mr Mongaby began to argue, but Flora shut him down before he could put himself in danger.

“It’s fine, Mr Mongaby. We’ll go home this way.”

“Would you like to join us, Astoria?” said Alecto craftily. “We’d, ah, love to have you for supper.”

Astoria was thoroughly tired of the weight of fear preventing her from acting in this situation. She had to be fake. She had to be fake like Alecto and play the game that the Death Eater had set up. Maman was right. These people did take interest in any fresh blood they could find.

“No, thank you, Ms Carrow,” Astoria said, but to show Alecto that she was not going to be the prey she expected, she added, “Perhaps another time.”

Alecto showed her grey teeth and swept a hand through her thin hair.

“Well, you don’t have to hide your face next time, love.”

 _Oh_ , so Alecto had figured out that she and Hestia had traded places on the day of Abraxas Malfoy’s funeral. The twins both caught this and glared at each other. Astoria considered her next move. Acknowledging Alecto could prove disastrous, but playing dumb might get Hestia and Flora in further trouble with her. _They_ were the ones who had to go home with the Death Eater. Then it hit Astoria –– the sneakiest way she could play her cards to keep the other girls, especially Rhiannon, out of Alecto’s interest.

Astoria made a show of glancing at the other girls, though she already knew they weren’t looking. Her eyes locked right on the Death Eater’s, for she could sense that the witch was not a Legilimens. Then, artfully, she acted like she and Alecto shared a secret. Astoria placed a finger to her lips and shook her head. ‘Keep my attendance at that funeral a secret.’

Alecto was idiotically delighted, and a sickening grin spread across her lips. Astoria knew what this fiend had in mind. Alecto had never done anything useful enough for the Dark Lord before, because to have done something useful would have resulted in a prison sentence. Now Alecto thought she might finally have a pureblood protégé, a _convert_. And Astoria let her think that. It brought the Death Eater’s interest to her and took it away from the twins and Rhiannon.

“Well, I did not mean to interrupt. Flora, Hestia, I will be waiting outside. Inform me of the ticket revenue, since we need groceries.”

Alecto walked away, chin up. Mr Mongaby tried, once more, to review the details of the next concert, but Flora did not trust her aunt’s word to allow for further delay in their departure. Astoria was grateful when she cut him off and said they had to go immediately. Before the twins left to follow Alecto, though, Flora quickly grabbed Astoria by both arms and got right in her face.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Flora asked.

“Saving you the trouble. She was going to ruin your night over that funeral. Now she’s distracted by me.”

“Astoria, you fool, it’s worse when she _likes_ you,” Flora averred with a pained expression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, if you save a draft it will publish with the draft date instead of the finish date lol... happy Friday all


	22. Aurora, Jonah, and Rabastan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"With people who become acquainted at a glance, and old friends in an hour, wooing is naturally not a long process. Indeed, it may be said that between lovers among mind-readers there is no wooing, but merely recognition." -E. Bellamy_  
>    
> _"But the horror of Death is an ecstasy,  
>  And the sweetest song is an elegy,  
> And the loveliest flowers in the world for me  
> Are the roses which bloom on the cypress-tree"  
> -J.C. Squire_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my playlist is [located here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy)  
> Chapter 22 - "Месечинко льо, грейливка" (Loosely translated from old Bulgarian "Little Moon, Radiant;" sometimes credited as "Love Chant from the Mountains").  
> The extraction of memories by way of either a Pensieve or Legilimency in HP always struck me, and nothing else truly captured the raw emotion of what it would be like to experience memories so tangibly.
> 
> This one is of Sinistra and Crouch.  
> It's got angst. I tried my best to format the Legilimency stuff.  
> Block quotes + _italics_ indicate the memories themselves.  
> Block quotes + **_bold + italics_** indicate the train of present thought that interrupts the memories.  
> The formatting was sometimes frustrating, but I am proud of this chapter. It provides insight into events that happened in the previous stories and serves to foreshadow the next. I think this gets into the complexity of all the characters' story arcs as well. I hope you enjoy it!

Everyone’s mood seemed to change for the worse after Easter Holidays. Rhiannon had been affected by watching the Greengrasses try to ship off their valuables, and was sifting through her possessions repeatedly. Astoria noticed that Rhiannon had nonsensically cut up some of her bedclothes and used them to pad the valuable objects in her suitcase, forcing the house-elves to replace the laundry. The twins were bruised and stony-eyed from having to spend a weekend at home. Hestia was not showing her usual level of public affection toward Rhiannon. Draco looked so upset that Astoria thought somebody close to him might have died. Even the people Astoria was not cosy with were upset. Ginny Weasley hinted to her in Potions that she was having a difficult time with her boyfriend, Dean, and was trying to think of ways to break it off. When Astoria responded that she had never been the one to break up a relationship before, Ginny said, “I thought you would know some etiquette thing that would make it a breeze.”

Astoria received the second volume of _Legilimency in Practice_ from Professor Sinistra after Astronomy on Tuesday night. Draco asked if he could see her cast the spell again, but Astoria reminded him quietly that her lessons were supposed to be secret, and that Tracey was right in front of them.

“Oh, right. You told me that. Why aren’t you learning Occlumency instead, again?”

“I’m supposed to learn both, but I’m no good at Occlumency. It ends up simply being Professor Sinistra roaming my whole mind.”

“You should work on it even more if that’s the case.”

Astoria noticed Draco’s warning tone, and his lack of offering to teach it to her in Professor Sinistra’s place did not sit well with her. Yet there were only so many times she would ask him what was wrong. If he wasn’t going to tell her, that was his choice. When Tracey retired and only Draco and Theodore remained on the couch, Astoria took the book back out of her satchel to demonstrate.

“ _Legilimens_.”

It was unlike reading; it was more like being spoken to. Professor Sinistra said it would be a good sign if it felt less like archaeology and more like browsing at a shop when using this book. Astoria was struggling slightly, but anything was better to losing her sight and stumbling like the very first time she cast it. She merely held the book in her hands and looked at it like any other object in the room, yet it was projecting so much to her. Books crafted to be read with Legilimency really did come alive, and the better Astoria got at the art, the more entertaining it was to read. This time, she was able to skip the Preface and Acknowledgements like she desired, and she even uncovered the name of the highly elusive author.

> Well, I am Gwendela Bagshot. No, not the _History of Magic_ lady. That is my aunt, and she is nothing but an old fogey. Chapter One is over here if you are interested. Yes, right over here. If you have made it this far in my series, you should expect at least a few of the following statements to be true of yourself and your daily experiences:
> 
> 1\. You have an increased understanding of the general motivations, goals, and moods of those close to you.

> 2\. People have accused you of “reading minds,” which is, as you know, hardly a sufficient explanation of the art.

> 3\. The results of speaking with people have become more obvious and less rewarding.

> 4\. In spite of the drawbacks, you hunger for more skill in Legilimency.

> 5\. You are under the impression that you know what is going to happen next. You, my dear reader, could not be more incorrect. Legilimency is becoming aware of what is _already_ present in the minds of others. If you are interested in Divination, then this is not the book for you; although, my other text, _The Inner Workings of the Inner Eye_ may interest you.

> 6\. If you are particularly shrewd, you will become aware of point number 6 here… yes, hello. This is simply my confession of the shameless advertising present in point 5. I do not readily admit this to the casual reader, but I need the funds to partake in the exchange programme at the Durmstrang Institute. Buy my books! Please, please buy my books! You know you want to!

Astoria could probably have read this book until the point of exhaustion, but she had only started it to demonstrate the spell to Draco, and decided to come out of her concentration. She told him all about what she had read, and how it was coming much easier to her. She was able to pick up on the nuances of the author and recognise exact phrases rather than rely on a general understanding of the book. Draco looked impressed, whilst Theodore, who was also an Occlumens, was nonetheless mightily intimidated.

“Bagshot, you said?” Theodore chatted without looking at Astoria’s face. “How old is the book?”

“ _Legilimens_ ,” Astoria said, with the solitary goal of finding the publication date. To her shock and pride, the book answered her call.

> This book was published in August, eighteen hundred and seventy-seven. The previous volume was published in January. You can expect the next volume in the spring of next year. Oh, pardon me; it is much more likely that you are reading this book after the publication of the final volume. I ask that you not worry so much about the date. The art remains the same. I am probably dead whilst you read this! Ha ha! We’re all dead for much longer than we are alive, isn’t that true? Well… it’s probably not true of my aunt. I think she was born during the Renaissance.

“She says it’s from 1877,” Astoria answered. “Along with many other comments…”

“Is it hard to understand?” Draco asked curiously. “I mean, her style of writing must be old-fashioned. Does that make casting the spell more difficult?”

“There’s not really a style of writing. It reads as though she’s speaking right from her train of thought, so I understand this book perfectly so far. This one’s much more interesting now that I’ve got to know the art,” Astoria said, then she smiled from ear to ear when she realised that she could hold a conversation with Draco and listen to the book at the same time.

> You seek information on the language of this text, which brings up an excellent point about the art of Legilimency. I must repeat that it can not be called, with any suitability, “ _mind-reading_ ,” because if it were truly reading, there would be a language. This is more akin to “understanding of the mind.” I’ve said this a million times. Speakers of any language, if they are gifted, can understand this book. I will add, however, that it was so exhausting to _compose_ this series that if it does not become the authoritative text in Legilimency, I will rightfully throw a tantrum. _No_ , I am not revealing my secret regarding how I composed this book. Other authors on the subject will simply have to make do with boring paper and ink. _Ha_!

As Astoria “understood” the book, she attempted to relay the information back to Draco and Theodore in real-time. At that point, however, she felt mental exhaustion creeping, and it was not simply from the fact that it was nearing midnight. It was a heavy and cloudy feeling rather than sleepiness, such as the feeling when she calculated Arithmancy homework for too long.

“You’re blacking out, Astoria,” Draco said, shaking her gently. “Like when you first cast it.”

“Yes, I can tell…” Astoria said, holding the side of her head. “Well, I do have Legilimency lessons tomorrow, so I should go to sleep soon. Goodnight, Theodore. Goodnight, Draco.”

“Are we meeting after Legilimency?” Draco asked.

“Yes, that sounds nice.”

Theodore made a disapproving noise. Maybe Draco would want to talk about what was bothering him… Then again, maybe not. That was why he was such a good Occlumens.

After a long morning of Transfiguration, D.A.D.A., and History of Magic, Astoria trudged up Astronomy Tower. She disliked how an exhausting task like Legilimency had to be right after three of the most fatiguing classes, but she did what she was asked to do and arrived right on time. Professor Sinistra crossed her legs self-assuredly and started using Legilimency straightaway once Astoria stepped into the Astronomy Library.

“So, you like the second book. Well, I shan’t surprise you anymore by stacking them upon you. There are four books in the series –– five if you count her unfinished one. Oh, you’re jealous, dear, that I can do this without pointing my wand. I have many more years of working in Legilimency than you do, and you must remember that you are no Occlumens. Which brings me to my next point…”

Professor Sinistra Summoned one of the comfier chairs from the other corner of the library, and it arrived without making a single scratch on the floor. Astoria took a seat and folded her hands in her lap. She never drew her wand until Professor Sinistra told her to. It seemed like the right thing to do in a Legilimency class, even if the professor herself dove right in.

“Professor Snape has informed me that my Occlumency has deteriorated to the point of discomfiture,” Professor Sinistra said in a businesslike tone. “I was never the strongest Occlumens, but then again, nor was I ever an open book. For today’s lesson, I would like to rebuild my defences from, as Severus says, ‘scratch.’”

“Yes, Professor,” Astoria said.

“You’re saying yes, but you don’t know what I mean.”

“No, Professor, I don’t.”

Professor Sinistra blinked her eyes rapidly and curled her lips, saying, “In all of our lessons, we have both been extracting strong memories beforehand. I believe this has lulled me into a sense of security regarding the strength of my Occlumency. I cannot allow these memories to hinder me, nor can I safely keep them in the phials we’ve been using lest they fall into the wrong hands during the war. For this lesson, I was hoping we could help each other.”

“Oh, you’d like to practise Occlumency with all of your memories whilst I practise Legilimency?” Astoria sought to confirm, since she was nervous at the prospect.

“That is what I mean, if you do not object to it, dear. I cannot expect to restore my Occlumency by throwing half of my life’s memories into jars. I would like to practise blocking the things I do not want you to see. Based on your ability to open the second Legilimency book, you have reached such a level that this will be worthwhile. Of course, where my Occlumency fails, you may think differently of me or become disturbed. As you know, I have not led a carefree life.”

“If I can be of help, I will do it, Professor. With your skill in Legilimency, I’m surprised you don’t think differently of _me_ ,” Astoria said, finding her strength in the trust the woman placed in her.

“When I know so much about everybody,” Professor Sinistra said, “one person rarely manages to be conspicuous enough to change my opinion. You really are a normal girl, Astoria. Everyone your age feels insecure.”

Astoria nodded. Professor Sinistra had Winky bring them some tea and snacks. One might have thought they were going to have a talk about the weather, it was so calm. Ultimately, though, Astoria had to draw her wand without having the reassurance of Professor Sinistra’s comfort and ease. Astoria’s very favourite professor, her role model, and, she liked to think, her friend, sat before her uncensored and in need of help. Professor Sinistra, due to her connections, might one day have to face more Death Eaters or worse, You-Know-Who. She couldn’t do that without Occlumency, but Astoria had to know one more thing before she started.

“Professor, I’m more than willing to help you, but I was wondering why you did not have Professor Snape do this. He is the one who noticed the breach in your Occlumency.”

“Would you have Rhiannon help you with this?” Professor Sinistra responded, her dark brown eyes glinting. “Without taking a single thing out of your head?”

“Ah… no,” Astoria acknowledged.

“Exactly. Carry on, Astoria.”

“ _Legilimens_ ,” Astoria said, and at first, the spell was always the same. She focused on the eyes of the professor and began seeing images common to both of them. Astronomy classes, scenes of the castle, the panorama of Hogsmeade and a plethora of familiar faces, but then people started saying things Astoria had never heard personally. Little snippets became whole sentences. Whole sentences were met by the automatic running commentary of Professor Sinistra’s stream of consciousness. Then, at last, there was a dark pool, and the room Astoria sat in seemed irrelevant to the wealth of information and stories within Professor Sinistra. It was like watching a play at the theatre, only Astoria was in the moment as much as the actors.

“Ah, I see,” Professor Sinistra said aloud, clutching her chair. “I must feel guilty about the wand.”

Astoria recognised Ollivander’s shop… with boxes of wands stacked clear to the ceiling. Professor Sinistra was very small, smaller than Astoria, and had little jewels in her delightfully puffy hair that bounced when she ran to look at the wands. She was so excited to go to school. Her parents stood off to the side, and her mother muttered concerns that she would become dependent on a wand. Then, Astoria cracked the shell of the memory entirely.

> _I am eleven years old. Mama uses her hands for magic and hopes that I’ll only use my wand when the teachers at Hogwarts tell me to, but I want to use it all the time. I’m so excited to get one, but I have to wait for Ollivander to finish with the boy ahead of me. I tried stepping forward to get a better look, but an old man in a stupid hat glares at me. I’ll try stepping round the woman…_
> 
> _That’s much better. Ollivander has a stack of five –– no, six –– boxes ready to try out on the boy in front of me. I wonder how many he’ll let me try out. Will I get my own stack? Are those just the ones he’s really trying to sell? No, wait… the boy looks happy with that wand. That must be the one, then._
> 
> _“Well, now, my boy, what we have here is a match. This is a yew wand, with a unicorn tail hair core. One of my more unusual combinations…” Ollivander says. He’s very cheerful, but the old man in the stupid hat is growing fussy._
> 
> _“What do you mean ‘unusual’?”_
> 
> _He’s being very rude. He’s embarrassing the boy._
> 
> _“Father, there are people waiting behind us.”_
> 
> _“Barty, there are always going to be people behind you. Settle down. Now, Ollivander, what do you mean by selling a yew wand to my son?”_
> 
> _I don’t need to pay any attention to the old man in the stupid hat. Barty is the boy’s name. He seems shy. Shyer than me and shorter than me. He’s completely covered in freckles! It’s funny._
> 
> _“I’m so excited to go to Hogwarts,” I tell Barty. “I wonder what kind of wand I’ll get.”_
> 
> _Barty might not talk to me. He’s just staring. He has dark eyes even though he’s really pale. Maybe he’s too shy._
> 
> _“Probably a pretty one,” he says._
> 
> _“I’d like a pretty one,” I answer. I’m so glad he talked to me. I don’t have any good friends._
> 
> _“My name’s Aurora.”_
> 
> _Barty is staring at his dad. Oh, now he’s waving me over to where he is. Maybe I can sneak past his dad…_
> 
> _“You can call me Jonah,” he tells me like it’s a big secret._
> 
> _“I thought your name was Barty.”_
> 
> _“I don’t like my first name. Jonah’s my middle name.”_
> 
> _“Ok… Jonah.”_
> 
> _It’s my turn for the wands. The old man in the stupid hat is buying the yew wand for Jonah after all. Ollivander places me on a step and measures my arm, and then the measuring tape circles all round me and even measures my head. I tell him I’m left-handed. He is rubbing his chin and looking at the shelves. He gets me my own stack. I get to pick from eight wands! How wonderful! Oh, maybe it’s not all that great… the first three are just different varieties of pine wands… They feel like lead when I wave them._
> 
> _It’s going to take me to the very bottom of the pile of wands to get it right. The one on the bottom looks nearly as big as my arm. If it doesn’t work, Ollivander will have to get another pile. That’s embarrassing. It’s really getting busy in here._
> 
> _“Cypress and dragon heartstring, sixteen inches. Unyielding. My, my, Miss Sinistra, I once imagined this one would be a replacement wand for an older witch. But it feels right, doesn’t it?”_
> 
> _It does feel right in my hand. I don’t want to swish it too much or I’ll knock the boxes over. I put it over my head and wave it at the ceiling. Astronomy is my favourite, anyway!_
> 
> _I wonder what the difference is between yew and cypress._

> _I am thirty-four years old. Rhiannon has damaged her wand in Severus’s class, and he sent her to Professor Babbling to see if it could be saved. Rhiannon tells me it’s going to take the professor a while to get a hold of Acromantula web to repair the wand. Severus has therefore sent her here. He knows I have spares. I keep them at home, though, so it’s going to take a walk down to Hogsmeade. I can’t take Rhiannon with me, though. There may be dementors outside, and my house is a wreck. I grab the box from my dresser and hurry back to school._
> 
> _“Here are the wands,” I tell Rhiannon, and her face lights up. She hovers her hand over them for a moment like she’s dowsing. I then realise that I had added Jonah’s to the box. Damn it. I thought I’d put it in its own. That night was bad; I don’t remember all I did._
> 
> _Rhiannon picks Jonah’s wand. Of course she picks Jonah’s. I shouldn’t have even brought that one… it was in with the rest of them. Why did I do this? I’m so stupid. I’m so stupid. It was just in the same box as the rest of them. I couldn’t bury these. I couldn’t bury any of these wands like you’re supposed to. My whole family is in this box. What’s wrong with me?_
> 
> _“Try the other ones for the record, Rhiannon,” I tell her, even though it’s obvious Jonah’s is going to work for her. I’m thinking maybe Papa’s will work for her. No, it doesn’t. She puts it down. She waves Mama’s and tries casting a Levitation charm. That one doesn’t even work. Mama’s wand had so little use to it… she did everything with their hands… surely it should have worked for the poor girl. Rhiannon picks up Euley Crouch’s wand and has a go with it. The charms work, but they’re not great. If only mine wasn’t made with a left-handed handle, I’d offer it instead. Why couldn’t mine have had a universal handle, or no handle? Why did she want Jonah’s so badly?_
> 
> _“Oh, I get it. This one’s his, ain’t it?” she asks me, setting down Euley’s and returning to the first one she chose. She’s so aware. She misses him. She misses who he pretended to be. When she thinks of him, she refers to him as Professor Crouch. I hate that. He lied to me. I should have never let her know about him._
> 
> _“That one’s his, yes.”_
> 
> _It’s all I can say. That wand won’t be hurting anybody anymore if it’s in Rhiannon’s hands. She gently Disarms it from me. It’s hers until her real wand is fixed. I think Astoria knows, and she’s worried. I feel so bad. Rhiannon’s wand could take forever to be repaired, now that Ollivander’s missing… The Death Eaters got him. They’re just taking anybody these days. I bet Rabastan’s involved._

Astoria needed a rest, though Professor Sinistra’s internal monologue kept going as she pulled out of the spell. Professor Sinistra was looking at her feet. Her composure had been robbed. It was Astoria’s fault.

“No, Astoria, it’s not your fault. Severus was right. I’ve lost my edge.”

“Rhiannon isn’t having the slightest trouble with that wand. She says it was made better than hers,” Astoria said. “But Professor Babbling told me she’s procured the web for Rhiannon’s core and will have her wand back by the end of the month.”

“Good, that’s good.”

“You shouldn’t feel so guilty, Professor. Rhiannon is going to feel that way about him, wand or not. When he talked to her, it proved to her that we’re all the same, because he knew she was Muggle-born,” Astoria said carefully to try to help. “Slytherin wasn’t a good place for her. Her home environment was even worse. The way he looked out for her, even if it was a random decision on his part, still sits with her because she knows he was loyal to You-Know-Who. It makes her feel not so different in the end. It’s her own little way of laughing in the Dark Lord’s face, I think.”

“Very well,” the professor answered. “Shall we continue? I need to be able to throw you out somehow.”

Astoria had a brief realisation that she was being used. Professor Sinistra had picked her to learn Legilimency because she was the only one she trusted to cast it on her. This was in preparation for the war. This wasn’t for Astoria’s education. But Astoria brushed the thought aside quickly before Professor Sinistra knew she had caught on.

“Yes, Ma’am. _Legilimens_ ,” Astoria cast.

> _I am thirty-two years old. I have to chaperone this stupid dance. I want to go home, but that would disappoint Professor Dumbledore. At least old man Crouch isn’t here anymore. He’s sick on Christmas. How sad, a crying shame. I hope he dies._
> 
> _Why did I order potato soup? I didn’t want potato soup. Alastor Moody’s eye rolls over to me. I should have sat somewhere else. I just don’t want to be near that Percy Weasley boy… He works for old man Crouch._
> 
> _“You can order something else, Professor. Steak’s good,” Moody says to me._
> 
> _“Do I look that miserable about the soup?”_
> 
> _“Aye, you do. But if you and potato soup have a history, I don’t want to intrude.”_
> 
> _He chuckles to himself. I order the steak. I don’t want steak, either. Damn it. I need sleep._
> 
> _“What do you say to a dance, Professor Sinistra?”_
> 
> _What? A dance? Me and the old Auror. How absurd. An Auror._
> 
> _“Come on, these boys can’t be_ that _bad at singing. Unless you’re saving the first dance for Professor Snape.”_
> 
> _Snape? Why does everyone think Snape and I are having an affair? Doesn’t this old coot know better? Does Severus even dance? Do_ I _even dance?_
> 
> _Here I am. Getting ready to dance with this Auror. I haven’t danced in fifteen years. I thought I was just supposed to sit here and make sure no one gets pregnant at the Yule Ball. Why does Moody insist on talking to me? Does he feel sorry for me because he was part of the team that arrested my husband? He’s an unbelievable Occlumens… I won’t know. I wonder if Severus can crack him._
> 
> _“What business have you in this old skull of mine, Professor?”_
> 
> _Ah. He’s caught on. I’m being rude, aren’t I? It’s rude of me to try Legilimency. I should be honest. Moody means no harm. He was only doing his job back then… Jonah hadn’t done it, but he was guilty of other things._
> 
> _“I’m tempted to think you brought me out here because you and I have more history than even the potato soup and I have.”_
> 
> _Moody laughs, “We do, do we?”_
> 
> **_I don’t want to watch this, Astoria_ ** _._

Astoria withdrew from her spell instantly, but was met with Professor Sinistra’s baffled expression. She ordered her to keep going –– that they were starting to breach the point of where she completely lost control of her Occlumency.

“But Professor!”

“Oh, you’re not used to this, I forgot,” Professor Sinistra shook her head. “The mind does not take very kindly to this spell. You’re going to hear me think all sorts of nasty things. Listen to me, Astoria –– I don’t want you exiting my mind until _you_ reach the point of exhaustion, or unless _you_ don’t want to see something. I’m going to object to your Legilimency a million times before I get a hold of myself again. If I’m especially bad at Occlumency, I might leave this chair and start panicking. But do _not_ listen to me. I cannot face Rabastan Lestrange if I am weak like this, and if I may be direct, dear, I mean to bring him down.”

Astoria stammered an affirmative. This really was a lot to ask of her. It had escalated way beyond the farce of recommended reading.

“Seriously, Astoria.”

“Right. Okay. Ready? _Legilimens_.”

> _Professor Moody has just made fun of Harry Potter’s socks. His socks aren’t showing. He must see them with his mad eye._
> 
> _“Oh yeah. Dobby the house-elf knitted them,” Harry says with a smile._
> 
> _Moody laughs. I’d like to see these socks myself if they’re so amusing. Then again, the girl Harry’s with said that Moody was being a creep with his magical eye. He’d better not be using that eye on me. But maybe he just sees under_ everybody’s _clothes. The way I see in everybody’s head. Props to him for not laughing his arse off every day, then. We’ve stepped on a few people so far, but I really didn’t mean to step on Astoria._
> 
> _“Astoria, I’m sorry,” I say._
> 
> _“It’s quite all right!” she says. She knows Moody’s doing his best with this wooden leg. Oh. The boy she’s dancing with doesn’t really care about her. She’ll figure it out._
> 
> **_I’m sorry, Astoria. It was my thought at the time. We don’t have to use this memory. We can use another memory over here… It’s still useful…_ **

“Astoria, what did I just tell you?” Professor Sinistra said impatiently when Astoria obediently left the memory of the Yule Ball and found a memory of the professor’s first owl dying.

“You told me to find another memory, Professor,” Astoria gasped. “In your thoughts.”

“No, that’s what I want you to do, but that’s not what I _need_ you to do! I know you have the power to break the force of my Occlumency. If I’m resorting to redirection, that’s pathetic! Do you think Death Eaters are going to listen to me when I say ‘Come over here!’ I _hated_ the way Rabastan looked at me in Azkaban.”

“Yes, Professor,” Astoria accepted.

“Do you understand now?”

“Yes, Professor. _Legilimens_!”

> _Professor Moody is speaking to me over the music. It’s a rather long song. I think it’s sad. Why would you open with a sad song? I wish the Hobgoblins were still together. None of this swirly dancing would be going on. Jonah and I used to go wild at those concerts._
> 
> _“You’ve made quite a career out of Astronomy, Professor. I heard you’re the chief editor of the_ Polaris _guides_. _”_
> 
> _“Oh, well, nobody reads those.”_
> 
> _“I do, young lady! And you’ve given presentations for the Agency of Atmospheric and Space Magic, I heard. That’s impressive is what it is. You have a lot of ungrateful students. I commend you for having done this for so long. Now, me, I don’t think I’ll have this job for very long. It’s for the best –– can’t stand most of their attitudes.”_
> 
> _“Well, thank you, Professor. I do have some wonderful students, though. We stepped on one such student’s foot not long ago.”_
> 
> _“Greengrass? Yeah, she’s got a habit of bringing your homework to my class. She has her friend Rhiannon Clarke keep lookout, as if I don’t know what they’re up to. They’re good kids, though. Clarke’s just finished up a detention with me.”_
> 
> _“Detention?”_
> 
> _“I said good kids, not angels. Ah, there goes Snape.”_
> 
> _Yes, there he goes, off to stop people from fondling each other. He’s good at that sort of thing._
> 
> _“It’s good you found him after… well…” Moody says to me very closely._
> 
> **_He’s acting…It’s all an act. I don’t want to watch this. I don’t want to watch my husband lie to me… How could he dare speak to me about Severus when he ran to Voldemort?_ **
> 
> _“After what?” I ask._
> 
> _What does he mean ‘found’ him? Severus and I are not having an affair. Maybe Alastor Moody found somebody else as a widower. But Snape and I aren’t like that. Jonah and Lily died not far apart from each other. It’s a good thing we are there for each other, yes, but we’re close friends… Jonah and Lily… Moody would_ never _understand about Jonah and Lily. Oh, I get it. It’s our Legilimency wavelength. Moody sees Severus and I using a wavelength all the time, to understand each other without speaking. But Jonah and I did that more. We’d go a whole day without talking. Nobody knew our secrets._
> 
> _“It’s been a long time since you lost your husband, Professor. I thought a young lady like yourself would have found somebody. Well, maybe not likes of Snape.”_
> 
> _“There is no one except my husband,” I say. I’m offended. I don’t like this. I don’t dance with Aurors. I don’t talk to Aurors. My husband was wrongfully convicted by his own father. Rabastan set him up. Rabastan was the one, not Jonah. Jonah had no sense in his skull._
> 
> _“I’m a widower myself, Professor. Don’t get me wrong. I know what it’s like. I never remarried. I never re-anything. I miss my wife terribly. I’d do anything to see her again.”_
> 
> **_I don’t want to hear this from him._ **
> 
> _“My husband is very misguided,” I say, “but the time we had together is precious to me. We’ve been together for longer than you realise. We started dating in our third year. He was there for me when my parents passed away. He’s always there for me. I feel like…”_
> 
> **_Astoria, please… don’t._ **
> 
> _“He’s never left me, really,” I say._
> 
> **_…No, God, why…_ **
> 
> _“Is that why you talk about him in the present tense?” Moody says inconsiderately._
> 
> **_Please, I don’t want to watch him say this again!_ **
> 
> _“Yes, because I know in my heart he is even with me now.”_
> 
> _“Grief’s a long process. But you’re right about that feeling. My wife never left me, either,” Moody says wistfully. “Well put, Professor.”_
> 
> **_GET OUT! GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT!_ **

Professor Sinistra was slumped forward in her chair, sweaty and upset, but coming to her senses. Astoria ordered Winky to get her an iced goblet of water, which she took. She averted her eyes from Astoria whilst she drank it and used few words.

“That is the point at which I Occlude, then. Severus was right. _Gah_ …”

“Professor?”

“We must continue. It benefits us both.”

 _Benefits us both_? What good was this doing for Astoria? All that was coming out of this was that she was learning the deep personal life of the professor. It seemed so inappropriate.

“Is there anything in particular that I should…?”

“Search for? Yes. _Rabastan_. Because when Rabastan arrives, the first thing he’ll do is look for himself in my eyes,” Professor Sinistra said sternly.

“ _Legilimens_ ,” Astoria said after a breath deeper than Professor Sinistra’s.

> _“Auroraaa!”_
> 
> _I am thirteen years old. Rabastan Lestrange has beat Jonah for the position of Keeper on our Quidditch team. He is coming to tell me about it. I know he is. They’re classmates now that Rabastan has been detained another year. He should be in his O.W.L. classes, but instead he’s here. There’s something about his eyes I don’t like. I don’t want him looking at me_. _He stares too long, and in the wrong places._
> 
> _“I’m the new Keeper, Aurora.”_
> 
> _“I heard.” I say._
> 
> _Jonah earned this more than you did, Rabastan. You act like his friend, and then copy his homework and make fun of him behind his back. How pitiful you must be to copy his homework. They already retained you two years._
> 
> _“Well I made a bet, you see,” Rabastan says._
> 
> _I don’t say anything. Rabastan’s bet is with my patience._
> 
> _“I bet Valfrid Lofthouse that if I got Keeper, I would get to ask you on a date before him.”_
> 
> _He can’t be serious. He’s now the worst bully in our class. Lofthouse isn’t much better. What makes these creeps think I want them?_
> 
> _“So?” Rabastan says, crossing his arms._
> 
> _“So what?” I ask._
> 
> _Rabastan gives a snort and looks at his mates behind him._
> 
> _“Will you go on the Hogsmeade trip with me, that’s what.”_
> 
> _“No,” I say._
> 
> _He looks back at his mates and laughs. He is rolling his eyes. I know what he is thinking. I always know what he is thinking because he’s weak. He makes really dirty jokes about me with his friends. He thinks dirty things. He’s too old._
> 
> _“Why not? I’m nice to you.” Rabastan claims._
> 
> _“You’re only nice to me for the wrong reasons. It’s not really being nice, then, is it? You’re a bully to all of my friends.”_
> 
> _“Suit yourself, Aurora. But you should have went with me. Valfrid’s a loser.”_
> 
> _“You’re both losers,” I say, and Rabastan and the rest of his boys all start jeering._
> 
> _“Oooooooooo,” they all say, smacking one another’s arms._
> 
> _I don’t like any of them. I meet up with Glenda, and we walk away. They call her a half-breed. If they really wanted a chance with me, they’d treat my friends better. The boy I really like is Jonah Crouch. He always helps Glenda through doors she can’t enter because of her vampire heritage. He’s very respectful of me and my friends. He’s considerate and sweet. I can talk to him about anything in the world._

The memory dripped away like tears on watercolour paints. Astoria next discerned January snow, and a luggage-crowded dormitory. There was a twinge of excitement somewhere, and Astoria uncovered another scene.

> _We’re back from winter holiday in our third year. I put on my prettiest robes. I packed them just for this, and nothing else. I’ve planned this out, second-by-second. Glenda nods at me. I go out to the common room, trying to catch Jonah before the back-to-school dinner. I see his messy blond head bent over a book by the underwater window. He sits alone._
> 
> _“Hi, Jonah. How was your holiday?” I ask._
> 
> _“A-Aurora, hi. How was yours?” Jonah diverts instantly._
> 
> _“We went to see my mother’s family in Morocco, and my father’s family in Sardinia_. _It was very nice,” I say._
> 
> _Jonah smiles warmly at me, but he doesn’t say anything else. He shies behind his Arithmancy textbook. He must have read during his whole break; he takes too many classes. Maybe he’ll think I’m silly to ask him. Maybe I’ll take too much of his time away from his studies._
> 
> _“Something’s on your mind?” Jonah asks._
> 
> _I’m incredibly nervous, and I say, “Yes, you are. All of the time, practically.”_
> 
> _I have Jonah’s full attention now. His big brown eyes blink at me cluelessly. We’ve been the best of friends since starting school. More time has been spent together than apart. Doesn’t he know?_
> 
> _“I would be very happy if you would be my boyfriend,” I giggle, watching his skin turn red beneath his freckles._
> 
> _Then Jonah sticks his tongue out at me, and I lose all my confidence. Maybe he doesn’t feel the same way, but did he really have to make a face at my question? That isn’t like him. I’m so embarrassed. Where did I go wrong?_
> 
> _“I’m sorry,” I sputter in shame. I wouldn’t have asked if I really thought he was going to do this. Maybe he’d say “we should just be friends,” but why would he start mocking me?_
> 
> _“Aurora, wait!” Jonah exclaims before I can run away._
> 
> _He rubs his wrist on his face._
> 
> _“Did I make a face? I’m sorry. I got nervous. Are you serious about… what you said?”_
> 
> _“You got nervous, so you stick your tongue out at me?” I ask cautiously._
> 
> _Jonah shakes his head. Now he’s as red as a Gryffindor banner. His voice lowers, and I draw closer to him._
> 
> _“I’m sorry, Aurora. It’s not on purpose. My father sent me to St Mungo’s and had the Healers put me on this potion over the holiday. He said I was too much. He said if he wanted something as jumpy and loud as me, he would have got a dog. I’m, er, weaning myself off now that I’m at school, but I don’t think the twitches it gave me are going to go away. Mother was worried about the potion since it makes me move my face when I don’t want to, but Father said… he’d put her on it too… if she kept up her panicking.”_
> 
> _I’m silent and still. I don’t know what to say; I never do when Jonah tells me these stories from home. His father has been what I would call neglectful, but the few times he did take an active role in the family, it always had a negative outcome._
> 
> _“Jonah, I’m sorry. I misunderstood. I thought you were teasing me. It made me nervous, too. I thought maybe you were about to tell me, er, ‘no…’”_
> 
> _“Aurora! I’ve always had a crush on you,” Jonah laughs with joy. “I was wondering how you felt. I didn’t have the guts to ask. You’re so cool, and I’m just a drip.”_
> 
> _“I-Is that a yes?”_
> 
> _“It’s more than a yes,” Jonah says, and he takes my hand in his. We become each other’s worlds._

> _I am sixteen years old. Rabastan is staring at me from across the common room. He knows Dark magic now, more than I do, and I don’t like to be alone in the room with him. Rabastan supports You-Know-Who. He says he talks to Severus, but that can’t be true. Severus graduated. Why would he have anything to do with you, Rabastan? Severus was my friend. I hate you –– you can’t take my friend. You’re no good. You’re gross and cruel._
> 
> _Rabastan walks over to me because he doesn’t have anybody’s homework to cheat off of. I put my homework away. Now he’s prying about something else._
> 
> _“Are you so sure about this, Aurora?” he asks me in a slimy voice, pointing at my engagement ring._
> 
> _“What do you want now, Lestrange?”_
> 
> _I know what he wants. There’s not very much to this weirdo. Plus, he wants to serve You-Know-Who. He wants to kill Muggles and Muggle-borns, and kill half-bloods, and kill blood-traitors… He’s a genocidal maniac. And I’m a blood-traitor. I’ve always been a blood-traitor. He doesn’t want to kill me, though, because he thinks he can get in my pants. He’s so gross._
> 
> _“You’re practically doing this the moment you’re of age. Just can’t hold out, hm? Aren’t you a little young to be marrying?”_
> 
> _“Well, aren’t you a little old to still be in your seventh year?”_
> 
> _“Ah, very funny, Aurora. Very funny. Are you sure you know Barty well enough to marry him?” Rabastan asks, with his crooked-toothed smile._
> 
> _“Jonah is my fiancé, not yours,” I say._
> 
> _“Well, I think he’s a tosser,” Rabastan spits._
> 
> _“Look who’s talking! Get away from me.”_
> 
> _“If only it were that easy for me, Aurora. One day you’re going to learn I’m the better wizard.”_

> _I am nineteen years old. My sheets are tangled, and Jonah’s not in bed. I think I really slept in late. I always wake up first. I hear Jonah’s voice downstairs. It’s reassuring to hear…_
> 
> _Oh no! It’s almost eleven! How did this happen? How did I sleep in this late? My alarm? What happened to my alarm? Professor Kleinhardt is going to kill me for missing my internship! What have I done?_
> 
> _“Jonah! Is something wrong? Why didn’t you wake me up?” I say, hurrying down the stairs._
> 
> _Jonah is at the kitchen table with… with Rabastan Lestrange. No. Not this creep. Not in my house._
> 
> _“Excuse me? What’s going on? How could we both miss work?”_
> 
> _“Please sit down, princess,” Jonah says._
> 
> _Somebody’s died. The Death Eaters have got somebody again. Why is Rabastan here? Is he their messenger? Why is he drinking our tea? Why would Jonah even serve him tea?_
> 
> _Jonah grabs both of my hands and for a moment, the world is ours, and Rabastan is not there. We speak to each other through Legilimency. Rabastan can never touch this. His newfound Legilimency is too weak for our wavelength. Jonah informs me gently that Professor Kleinhardt has been found dead. This is terrible news. My Astronomy professor, gone… He was the best. He was like family after my parents passed._
> 
> _I feel terrible thinking this at such an awful time, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I also wonder what will become of my internship. My parents did not have much money to leave us in their will. We managed to build a house, but the Crouches gave us nothing. Old man Crouch didn’t want him to marry me. My internship is nothing compared to the death of my teacher, but I still need to know how we’re going to eat, and Jonah senses this because I never Occlude him._
> 
> _He strokes my hands and informs me that Dumbledore is promoting me to the position of Astronomy professor based on my performance and the tragedy. I ask Jonah what the hell Rabastan is doing in our home, and I notice he begins to Occlude me when he answers. Do you think I don’t feel this new addition to your walls, Jonah? Do you think I can’t feel the change? We are starting to argue, still within the spell’s wavelength… It gives me a headache, and I try to remain as composed as humanly possible whilst I tell Rabastan to leave._
> 
> _“I am sorry to come with such bad news, Aurora... Barty...” Rabastan sighs, looking from me to him, to me again._
> 
> _“I do hope this helps you, Aurora,” Rabastan breathes over the steam of his tea, and I notice his teacup is now full of Galleons._
> 
> _It’s the biggest fight Jonah and I have ever had. I tell him Rabastan’s a Death Eater. He says no, he just happens to be a sympathiser._
> 
> _“Isn’t that bad enough, Jonah?” I scream._
> 
> _We never scream. We never, ever scream._
> 
> **_Rabastan killed my professor. I know it now, seeing this memory now. Professor Kleinhardt was Muggle-born. I know that’s what he did. I’m going to kill Rabastan before he kills me. I’ll kill him with my bare hands if I have to. That bastard killed my professor to say that I owed him, to say that he got me the promotion. Jonah’s too stupid. Little did I know, he was already obsessed with the Dark Lord. He thinks he’s crown prince. He’s mad. It’s already too late, and I haven’t a clue. His Occlumency…_ **

****

> _I am nineteen years old. Whenever I cannot sleep, I sift through Jonah’s dreams with Legilimency. I do this because he said it makes him feel better. He’s gone through my dreams before, and he’s right. The dreams are sweeter when they’re being dipped into and played with. That’s why I stir his dreams round now, to hear him sigh contentedly in his sleep. When I do this, his comfort alone has lulled me to sleep before. Not tonight._
> 
> **_My husband’s the greatest Occlumens in history. I think I’m seeing everything, but I’m not. I don’t even feel him Occlude me unless he panics and pushes me backward. He can do it in his sleep. And right now, I can’t even do it awake with a schoolgirl…_ **
> 
> _I cannot sleep because I feel the presence of other wizards, I discover. I sit up and pull my dressing robe over me. My wand is ready._
> 
> _“Jonah,” I say, and he stirs._
> 
> _“What, princess? What’s wrong?”_
> 
> _“Jonah, I think there are Aurors outside the house.”_
> 
> _And then his expression changes, and he is so afraid that I cannot even tell that he is sleepy. Now I panic. Jonah takes his wand just as I am putting mine down._
> 
> _“Jonah, we can’t aim wands at Aurors. We’ll just have to talk to them and find out what they want, right? We just have to answer the door when they knock, right?”_
> 
> **_Wrong, it’s three in the morning. Aurors don’t pop in for a visit at three in the morning. I’m so stupid._ **
> 
> _“Must be Lestrange… That little fuck,” Jonah hisses._
> 
> _“WHAT?”_
> 
> _“Alright, Aurora, settle down. We can handle this. Come into my mind. There are things you need to know.”_
> 
> _And I’m in his head, and I’m noticing how much deeper the waters are. Deeper than he’d ever let me swim in before, and here I’d thought I’d seen it all. And there it is. Rabastan, the Death Eaters, and his secret love of You-Know-Who. It floods my mind with terror. How could my husband be a follower of the Dark Lord? My very own husband. He’s been hiding this. But how is this possible? He doesn’t believe the ideology of the Death Eaters. He’s just enamoured with the man alone… Voldemort…_
> 
> _My husband’s psychotic. This ocean does not end. His mind goes on and on and on into blackness. There are inlets with no thought, there are bays with no fish. The moon of his intellect shines above me, but the ocean of his deepest desires do not reflect the light. He is mad. Delusional._
> 
> **_You saw what I saw just now, didn’t you Astoria? You’re in his head, too. You see the extent of it, of what I saw._ **
> 
> _He believes we’ll be rewarded in the Dark Lord’s reign, me and him… Two nobodies from Hogsmeade… How has he hidden this from me all this time? It physically hurts to be this far in. No, he can’t pull me into this delusion with him. No._
> 
> _Jonah leads me to what I search in his mind, and I see him amongst stacks and stacks of Ministry files. He’s been breaching the Ministry to defame his abusive father, and he’s found another purpose to his actions. He’s started giving information about Aurors to the Lestranges. The Lestranges are Death Eaters. Oh my God, he’s gone to Voldemort himself. He’s given people’s identities and addresses. Their relatives. Their histories. He’s… my Jonah is a Death Eater… No. No. How did I not know about this?_
> 
> **_I really don’t want to see this._ **
> 
> _Jonah opens our door for the Aurors and starts to lie to them, too… But they grab him. They don’t waste any time. I am crying, I am trying to reach Jonah through Legilimency, just to talk to him… Just to know what will happen to us. One of the Aurors catches onto this and seizes me. It’s Alastor Moody. He subdues Jonah with a hex, and Jonah cannot cast Legilimency to reach me. I do not know what to do. Jonah still looks confident, but he’s watching Moody._
> 
> **_He never forgets a face. Jonah never forgets anything, and now I can’t either. I don’t want this. I already know what happens. Stop._ **
> 
> _“It’s going to be all right, princess. It’s a misunderstanding,” Jonah says aloud to me. “Probably something to do with my father.”_
> 
> _“Like hell it is!” Moody screams above my head. “Bartemius Crouch Junior, you are being arrested in connection with the torture and psychological annihilation of Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom with the Unforgivable Cruciatus Curse!”_
> 
> _“_ What? _What the hell do you mean?” Jonah screams back. “I didn’t cast that! What the hell are you talking about?”_
> 
> **_DAMN IT, ASTORIA, I’M TRYING!_ **
> 
> _He is afraid now. He is very afraid, but not as afraid as I am. This has got out of his hands. Jonah has freely gone looking for Voldemort. He wants his approval. This is what happens when you do shit like that, Jonah._
> 
> _“Aurora, I didn’t do that! Aurora, I swear! I swear I didn’t! Aurora!”_
> 
> _Rabastan has done this. He’s brought Jonah down with him. I know Jonah didn’t_ do _it, but he certainly saw to it that the Lestranges knew how to. I can’t look at him. He loves me too much, and it’s spilling out of his mouth. I cannot reconcile this love with what he did. Not now. Not now, Jonah. I’ll see you in gaol, in the morning. There is something wrong with you._
> 
> _“Aurora! Please, Aurora, you have to believe me! I don’t know about this!”_
> 
> _“I know, Jonah! Ok? I know!”_
> 
> _He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get anything. He doesn’t get that what he did was wrong. It’s all Voldemort. He thinks he’s the son of Voldemort. He’s lost it. We’re out of time. They take him away from me, love of my life._
> 
> **_ASTORIA!_ **

“You need to Occlude me, Professor!” Astoria said, wiping the sweat from her forehead. “I don’t care how! You need to get control of this again!”

“I’m trying!” Professor Sinistra exclaimed. “Can’t you _feel_ that I’m trying?”

“I feel it, but it’s not doing anything!” she declared. “I brush it out of the way!”

Professor Sinistra cried out. Her eyes had been shut for twenty minutes. It had done nothing to help her against the spell. Astoria was tired of meddling in defenceless memories. This wasn’t the practice Professor Sinistra needed. For as deeply she had delved into her mind, Astoria wasn’t sure what professor needed anymore. Astoria had to get to the bottom of the business with Rabastan, that intangible being who kept tearing through people she knew.

Crouch became a Death Eater of his own accord to get closer to a powerful figure like Voldemort, somebody who would actually acknowledge him, unlike his own father. Rabastan found the frailty in Jonah and ultimately set him up with the Longbottom crime to spite Professor Sinistra. The Professor could not prevent his escape like she had done with a handful of other Death Eaters. So, on the day of her husband’s true and final death, Rabastan became free. And he would be back. That was what Professor Sinistra feared.

Rabastan was the brother of Rodolphus Lestrange. Rodolphus was the husband of Bellatrix. Bellatrix was the aunt of Draco. Pansy Parkinson learnt how to read somehow, and she consumed book after book about Rabastan. She instilled fear of the stranger even in Daphne, whose boggart imitated the Cruciatus Curse that Rabastan had used on the Neville Longbottom’s parents. Parkinson’s undying obsession with Draco had finally found its eclipse in the face of the beast.

In the nightmare Parkinson had cursed Astoria with, Rabastan was the man who killed Astoria’s friends and family. Yet Astoria could not fear him, even though she should. She could not fear him because Professor Sinistra needed somebody to be unafraid. She picked Astoria. She had really picked Astoria.

“So, Rabastan’s become a strong Legilimens in the interim between your memories and now,” Astoria said.

“Yes, he’s very strong. He saw right through me when Jonah died. More than you did.”

“What are his weaknesses?”

“I…”

“He has to have some weakness, Professor,” Astoria pressed.

“He… I guess he’s haphazard, and he cannot control his emotions. If he thinks something will please the Dark Lord, he’s already doing it. There is no hesitation. That’s what makes him noticeable. His random violence. He gets trancelike when he hurts others… He drops his defences,” Professor Sinistra said. “He attacks. He does not defend. He’s sadistic.”

“A pawn, then,” Astoria said. “He’s the Dark Lord’s pawn.”

“Well, no,” Professor Sinistra said, her eyes bright and watery. “No, he’s one of the most high-ranking Death Eaters of all. The Lestrange trio… and my Jonah…”

“But what does it mean to rank?” Astoria asked, firstly because she was curious and secondly because she doubted its importance. “You-Know-Who came back to life because of Jonah’s involvement in the Triwizard Tournament, and he didn’t rush to help him back at the school. I assume You-Know-Who can Apparate, yes?”

“Of course he can Apparate. What kind of question is that, Astoria?” Sinistra asked, irked.

“A mocking one! Because You-Know-Who was too stupid to help Jonah at Hogwarts! Jonah thought You-Know-Who was going to come to the Hogwarts grounds, right? That’s why he attacked Harry Potter and tried to hide Rhiannon. If You-Know-Who had bothered to notice the extent of his servant’s work, he could have made short work of Harry Potter that very night! But he doesn’t notice. That’s all Jonah wanted from him, was to be noticed. And he didn’t even notice Jonah because he’s full of himself. So he won’t notice Rabastan, either. You can take on Rabastan separately from You-Know-Who.”

“You’ve gleaned more than I thought, but I still don’t think you know how this works,” Sinistra said weakly. “You-Know-Who protects those he trusts…”

“As long as it’s convenient!” Astoria interjected. “I’ve heard plenty about the Death Eaters, Professor. I don’t need to know _exactly_ how it works. Bellatrix is the sister-in-law of both Rabastan and Lucius Malfoy. She hasn’t vouched for Lucius Malfoy. She was leaving Azkaban with the Lestrange brothers not long before he was entering.”

“Lucius ruined the Battle in the Department of Mysteries,” Professor Sinistra argued. “The Lestranges have never botched a single order.”

“Do you think Rabastan won’t ruin some other Death Eater operative, Professor? With all that you said about him not being careful?” Astoria maintained. “So what if he’s a Legilimens! I guess I’m a Legilimens now, and I’m still in school. If Rabastan makes one wrong move, he’s out of favour. None of these people mean anything to You-Know-Who. If Jonah didn’t, then Rabastan definitely doesn’t. Defeating Rabastan doesn’t necessarily mean facing You-Know-Who. That’s what you’re really afraid of, isn’t it? You’re not afraid of Rabastan. Rabastan’s just some curse-happy sidekick.”

“I only…” Professor Sinistra muttered, then let out a huge sigh. “I only don’t want him to get curse-happy with Glenda or Severus or… my students.”

“Then you’ll need to get him first,” Astoria said boldly. “Like you wanted. Even if it takes Dark magic.”

Professor Sinistra hadn’t expected this talk from her. Nobody would have. What the professor did not readily consider, though, was that she had helped shape Astoria into the woman she was becoming. Her recognition of Astoria’s skills, from the moment she accepted Astoria into fourth-year Astronomy, to the pride she felt when Astoria used atmospheric magic, had stirred in Astoria a sense of confidence that she never would have had otherwise. Astoria’s confidence and trust in Professor Sinistra had waxed and waned before, all because of her connection with Barty Jonah Crouch. Even being force-fed Legilimency for the purpose of being “useful” to the professor had put doubts in her head just ten minutes ago. But tonight, Astoria understood everything as a Legilimens –– the pure, raw feelings that Aurora Sinistra had for her broken husband. There wasn’t an ounce of evil in her. Astoria wasn’t only learning Legilimency to be Sinistra’s training assistant; she was learning it because she was surrounded in her daily life by the relatives of Death Eaters. Professor Sinistra feared that Astoria was going down the same road she had. Astoria, though, was only going to look at Professor Sinistra’s accomplishments. There was nothing in the woman’s tragic memories that could detract from how strong and admirable she was. So Astoria, doing the thing she did the very best, reached out her arms to Professor Sinistra and hugged her until all those worries in her head went quiet. Astoria did not want to give up on Professor Sinistra’s goal of restoring her Occlumency after what she had seen.

“Professor, if I use Legilimency on you, I obtain your memories myself. So, what I don’t understand is that if I cannot use Occlumency well, there is _still_ nothing protecting your memories,” she mentioned. “Anybody could get your memories out of me even if your own Occlumency improves.”

“The truth is, secrecy is not what I’m aiming for, Astoria. Rabastan has already attacked me with Legilimency. I’m not so much concerned with the information itself as I am with the effect that information has on me whilst it is being pulled out. When I’m under Legilimency, it’s like reliving everything again. That is what makes me vulnerable. In a hypothetical situation, if you were attacked with Legilimency, and information about me was revealed, it would not be any different than it is now. I don’t have a wealth of _useful_ information for Rabastan, even if it is very personal. It’s the torture he enjoys.”

Astoria had talked big about defeating Rabastan Lestrange, but the reality was that, if given the chance, Rabastan would go straight for Professor Sinistra’s memories of the dementor that took her husband. And that would be enough to distract and defeat her if she could not Occlude it. The problem was that whatever was learnt through Legilimency became a memory to the Legilimens as well, and Astoria frankly did not want to see visions of the Dementor’s Kiss.

Although it was not required –– none of this was –– Astoria met Professor Sinistra the following afternoon to try again. Astoria felt stupid trying to use her own scant advice regarding Occlumency to try to help the professor, but she knew that it was much harder to Occlude things that one had not coped with. That is why she wanted to talk first, even though Professor Sinistra wanted to start with the spell immediately. The lack of conversation was counterintuitive. Having Legilimency cast on oneself might help build Occlumency, but it was a passive process and would not help the trauma. Conversation, though, was active and two-sided, so Astoria attempted it.

“Professor, I want you to tell me about Jonah’s death first.”

The man had half a dozen names. Astoria thought it best to use the one that resonated most with Professor Sinistra.

“Which death?” the professor grunted.

“Most people don’t have to specify, so first of all, I think that’s very sad,” Astoria noted.

“…I know. Well, to me, it feels like he died three times,” Professor Sinistra said, but she was very ashamed of talking to a student.

This was why the professor preferred Legilimency. She could say it was a “lesson” for both of them. This –– not so much. Astoria didn’t pry further. She knew she had a myriad of idiot thoughts that the professor could see.

“You know all this,” said the greater witch distantly.

“No, I know _of_ it. I thought it would be better to hear it from you before…”

“Before you pry it out of my cold, dead hands?” Professor Sinistra managed a grin.

“…Yeah.”

“Well… the first time… The thing is, when you’re barely in your twenties and your husband dies, everyone tells you to get back out there. But, erm, I don’t know how to put it. If there are two Legilimens and one of them dies, you don’t find someone else like that. Nobody understood that. They looked at it like we were only married for a couple of years. We’d been together for nearly seven, though. Legilimency kept us from fights. It kept us from misunderstandings. We were always connected. Well, ‘he was a Death Eater,’ they’d say. He wasn’t a Death Eater to my knowledge. I didn’t fall in love with _a Death Eater_ , not at all. I fell in love with Jonah. Nobody understood this because they didn’t have that difficulty. Well, he got quite famous, my husband, but the trial was ultimately a joke. The Lestranges _didn’t_ get what they really deserved, and my husband got what he _didn’t_ deserve. His father threw him in prison even though he knew Jonah belonged in the other kind of place. That was my experience that time. I, obviously, was left out of the little fake-your-death plan that Mama Crouch came up with.”

“That plan must have ultimately led to the things I saw with Moody happening.”

“Jonah thought it was very amusing, talking to me as Moody,” Professor Sinistra said in a small voice. “His father had kept him under the Imperius Curse for twelve years. As if his home life and Azkaban hadn’t harmed him, that destroyed what was left of his psyche. When he wrestled himself out of it, his mind was worse than he was when the whole ordeal started. When they caught him, and… and we met…”

Professor Sinistra placed a hand over her eyes and heaved a deep breath.

“He was so thrilled to see me, but the Veritaserum had thrown him into a stupor, and it was all about Voldemort. The only way I could reconnect with him was through Legilimency, but it physically hurt to be in his head. I kept thinking how happy I would have been to see him otherwise. My dead husband back with me, but instead he brought back Voldemort from the dead. His precious master. That was Jonah’s first priority. Voldemort, not me. I guess I was supposed to come later. What a joke.”

“He should have come straight to you after leaving his father,” Astoria said, contemplating how much different her own life would be if not for Voldemort’s resurrection.

“That is exactly what I told him. But he was so far gone. He said that he had had me in mind the whole time. Can you imagine? Having that guilt placed on you like that? ‘Oh, I brought back the Dark Lord for you, love! Never mind anybody else’s safety –– this is going to be _great_ for us!’ Like it was going to improve our lives. We were never exactly well-off. Our circumstances had been difficult. My parents died young of Splinching injuries, and his were absent from our lives. But we were happy. We were happy to have each other. Almost every moment with him not only made me happy, but it made me _happy to be alive_. To exist. To know love. Nobody understands what it’s like when you’re both Legilimens. There is no closer marriage. It’s a spiritual state. And Cornelius Fudge took my husband’s soul not two hours after our reuniting. I will never forgive him. He knew what that Dementor would do.”

“Kiss escaped prisoners.”

“See, even _you_ know that,” Sinistra said a bit carelessly.

 _Even I know that_.

“I made a point,” the professor continued, “to stay with my husband’s body and that Dementor that held his soul. I think I was trying to prove something at first. Then I realised I could not let go. I had been robbed of so much time with Jonah. I thought I’d lose my mind going to that prison, but I had to make sure that, er, he got out okay…”

“You took up studying dementors,” Astoria said, thinking of Professor Sinistra’s book that she still did not have the guts to read. She should have read it first, now that there was the risk of seeing the real memory.

“I tried to get him out of the dementor, yes. It’s so rare than anyone visits Azkaban that the few wizards in charge there don’t know how to do their job. You can take your wand right in. It’s crazy. That was how my husband escaped in the first place. So I tried everything. And when I say everything, I mean _everything_. I grabbed that dementor right by its slimy little claws and… oh, I’m sorry, Astoria.”

“I am fine.”

 _I’m old enough_.

“Nothing I did worked. All I could do was keep Jonah fed and clean. He was a vegetable. I wouldn’t let any guards near him. Sometimes he made noise, but I eventually accepted that he was gone. You would have thought I would have done that sooner, considering my Legilimency. He was brain-dead. Oh, but his soul… I could feel it in the belly of that thing. The day of the breakout was actually the happiest day I’d had in some time. Jonah’s body started to shut down in earnest. I had studied dementors furiously, and sure enough… When a dementor’s done with you, it sort of cranks open its jaw and… oh, Astoria, you…”

“No, I am fine, Professor. Really. You can talk.”

“Well, all this hot air comes out, like a belch, which is very bizarre because dementors make everything so cold. But all of this hot air comes out at first, and it stings your eyes, and then you see… sort of ghostly wisps…”

“The soul,” Astoria uttered.

“The soul comes out!” Professor Sinistra said musically. “It’s especially dangerous to get close at this point, because that means that the dementor no longer has any food. It’s digested all of the life energy and happiness that the soul has to offer, but then it sets it free. To pass on for good! Oh, Astoria, Jonah’s soul was so _light_! Not like a ghost, but like a little blessed cloud! And I knew he was finally free, and I ran my hands all through and said goodbye. And I know he knew it was me. I know he _knew_ I was there. And he’ll always be with me.”

Astoria felt a small smile on her face because Professor Sinistra had drawn it out with the light and love in her eyes. It was as happy an end to the nightmare as there possibly could be. Yet Astoria already knew that the peaceful goodbye had not lasted for Professor Sinistra. News of the Azkaban breakout had been all over. The professor had had the horror of watching Rabastan, a contributor to her misery, fly free along with the others involved in the Longbottom torture.

Where were they now, Astoria wondered. Their connection to the Malfoy family crossed her mind periodically. It concerned her, but she could not do anything about it. This, right here, was all Astoria could do.

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Professor. Even if it was the normal way.”

“You think having talked about it will help my Occlumency,” Professor Sinistra answered unconfidently. “My Occlumency did not benefit from writing an entire book on Jonah.”

“You wrote the book _alone_ , Professor,” Astoria said.

“Ah. Well, dear, if you’re still willing, let’s get to it, shall we?”

 _I’m grown enough_. _I can do this_.

“Yes, Ma’am. _Legilimens_.”

~

Astoria was not going to need to read _Thirty Things to Expect from the Dementor’s Kiss_. She saw it through Sinistra’s eyes. Six times, to be exact. Across multiple extra “lessons” that week. To say that witnessing that memory did not change her would have been a comfortable lie.

The magnificent thing, though, was that the developing strength of Astoria’s Legilimency allowed Professor Sinistra to not only share the moment with a confidant in the exact way she had experienced it, it also allowed her to re-evaluate a part of her life that was no longer a threat.

“There is something I can’t come to terms with, though,” the professor admitted. “Jonah treated Neville Longbottom really well that year because he felt guilty about what happened to his parents. And yet he wanted to use Neville against Harry Potter! Neville came and talked to me about it before signing up for my N.E.W.T. class. He said he didn’t want to make me feel awkward by being in my class. He said he’d never thought he’d go anywhere in D.A.D.A. until getting a vote of confidence from the wizard who grassed up his parents. Can you imagine? He pitied Neville, and then tried to use him! He venerated Rhiannon, and then brought back the wizard responsible for killing Muggle-borns! I can’t reconcile it.”

Astoria thought for a moment, and then said, “Professor, I don’t think he reconciled it, either. I don’t think he reconciled his admiration of any one individual with what they _stood_ for. Not You-Know-Who, not Rhiannon, not Neville, and definitely not you.”

Professor Sinistra blinked at her, and rubbed her face in her hands. She sighed.

“Jonah is free of his pain.”

Astoria nodded, thinking of other people who had led happier lives than him and remained in the bowels of dementors for decades.

“That’s true, Professor. He’s genuinely free.”

Professor Sinistra smiled sadly. Over time, she began to recover the faculty of her Occlumency. Astoria felt useful, but Professor Sinistra told her that there was much more to life than simply being useful to others. Having ignored the Wednesday-only protocol and working exhaustively, Professor Sinistra and Astoria both reached their goals and finally planned to resume their normal lessons.

“What you did here, with full knowledge of what you would see, has made you a much more powerful witch than before,” Professor Sinistra said, tightening the screws on the huge astrolabe in the Astronomy classroom. “There are plenty of assumptions about our House, Astoria. But I’ve always thought this of Slytherin girls specifically: if the assumptions are true, it’s not always a bad thing.”

Astoria now held the third volume of _Legilimency in Practice_ tenderly to her chest.


	23. The Wise Thing to Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Career advice for the O.W.L.s hits a little different when your main job is trying not to get killed by Death Eaters.  
> In other news, Draco gets Sectumsempra'd.
> 
> cw implied sensuality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my playlist is [located here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy)
> 
> Chapter 23 - "Don't Pass Me By" by Laura Marling

Professor Snape had always had a way about him that left one guessing his intentions. Rhiannon had a faint idea of where the accusations of him playing favourites with the Slytherins came from, but it definitely was not as pronounced at the other Houses liked to think. All thirty-one fifth-year Slytherins had to meet with Professor Snape for career advice due to their creeping O.W.L.s, and not a single one of them wanted to. The only good thing about it was that Snape had scheduled right through the elective classes. That would mean Rhiannon got to skip Care of Magical Creatures.

“Meeting with Professor Snape can’t be that bad, right, Astoria?” said Flora at lunch.

Flora was up to face Snape on Monday. Hestia was the first appointment on Tuesday and could not have been happier for the extra day away from him.

“It’s not altogether bad,” Astoria said, since she had had to meet with Professor Snape as a formality the previous year. “He basically tells you everything you’re doing wrong and sends you on your way. I heard that Umbridge sat in on some students’ appointments… thank goodness she’s gone.”

“So… it _is_ bad,” Hestia said.

“It’s not different than anything else with Professor Snape,” Astoria maintained. “He’s very helpful if you simply let him get all of his opinions out first.”

“His opinion that I’m doomed!” Hestia exclaimed.

“That’s enough,” said her sister. “He likes you. The only reason he yelled at you last week was because you and Rhiannon would absolutely not shut up during class.”

“He hates me,” said Hestia sensationally.

Nobody in their right mind could hate Hestia. On top of that, Snape was sure to like that Hestia was planning to make an honest potioneer out of herself. Rhiannon, on the other hand, wasn’t sure what else she was going to do besides what she was already doing with Pariah. Pariah wasn’t enough to pay for a house yet, so she’d have to pick up something. Music was her real path, though.

Rhiannon and Hestia met on the Grand Staircase before Rhiannon was set to visit Snape. Hestia was relieved that Snape had only a few “bad” things to say to her, and that he had been especially accommodating in telling her about the field of potions. Rhiannon, not having the same interest in potions, still was weary of career advice, but the real issue was not Snape. Rhiannon hoped that she would not have to face Pansy Parkinson’s new favourite person, Diane Carter, for any longer than necessary, since Carter had the appointment in front of her. Hestia offered to walk her down to the dungeons so she wouldn’t have to pass by Carter alone.

“You’ll be late to Professor Hagrid’s,” Rhiannon protested, since she genuinely liked him.

“What’s another missing Slytherin to him, huh?” Hestia answered coolly, and so they descended to Snape’s office.

Carter was in fact just leaving with a scowl on her face. That was no surprise to Rhiannon; the girl was about as bright as an Extinguishing Charm. Rhiannon watched her out of the corner of her eye as she passed by.

“What are you looking at, you ugly Mudblood?” Carter whistled through her nose.

“Didja say something, Farter?” Rhiannon asked with her hand cupped behind her ear.

Their words didn’t amount to anything. Rhiannon had an appointment to keep. She kissed Hestia on the cheek for good luck. Professor Snape was hunched over his desk and looked particularly pleased to be crossing off Diane Carter’s name from the appointment list. When Rhiannon took a seat, he leaned way back in his chair and folded his hands.

“Long time, no see, Professor,” Rhiannon said, since she had double D.A.D.A. that morning.

“Indeed.”

What was she supposed to do, impress him? He looked rather off-colour, which was saying something, since he was pale in the first place. Rhiannon remembered that Astoria said to let him talk first, but he wasn’t saying anything. Rhiannon saw a wide array of course catalogues from different schools on Snape’s desk.

“You are not planning to continue Divination, I would hope,” was his opener.

“No, sir. I don’t have ‘the Inner Eye.’” Rhiannon said.

“Mhm. Few other institutions offer that course… No, you can’t be that surprised that I’ve brought this up, Miss Clarke.”

“The transferring to other schools thing?” Rhiannon sighed. “I know, I know, I’m the infamous Muggle-born Slytherin. Dark Lord and all that. Cleanse the House. I know. I hear it from Carter and them all the time.”

Professor Snape did not seem as affected by her breach in formality as he usually might. For once, he looked like he was showing honest emotion. He slid the course catalogues to the edge of his desk.

“I am inviting you to consider other schools not to be over-anxious, but because the taunts of your classmates unfortunately possess more than a grain of truth. Fortunately, O.W.L.s transfer to other institutions,” Professor Snape said.

It seemed to Rhiannon like he was very calm about all of this. It helped her to stay calm, too. He had a much different approach than the Greengrasses, who panicked all through Easter holidays. He was very matter-of-fact about the state of the world and hid nothing from her. Snape really gave a damn. There was kindness there, as he pointed out the Magizoology programme at Castelobruxo to Rhiannon, and she admired how advanced it was compared to Care of Magical Creatures held out by the garden.

“Miss Clarke, we still have Jessica Limmen as the family contact on your files,” he said very knowingly.

Rhiannon wasn’t supposed to tell anybody that she lived with the Greengrasses, but it was more or less obvious to anyone who paid attention.

“You can keep her there. If Lord You-Know-Mort comes to get me, I’d at least like her to know I’ve died. She hates seeing owls, too, so go on and send all the owls you need.”

Professor Snape resumed his usual stoniness at that and flicked more papers in front of him with his wand. He stopped talking to her. He was reading reports on her performance from other teachers. His attitude gave her the impression that he already knew that she had no idea what she was doing with her life besides music.

“Well, let’s rule some things out,” he huffed.

 _Here it comes_.

“No Astronomy or Herbology for you, I take it. History of Magic… Miss Clarke, have you passed a _single_ test in there?”

“Yeah, I’ve passed some, sir. My job in there is to make sure I don’t get retained,” she said honestly.

He glared and clicked his tongue, and then allowed Rhiannon to see her summary of progress. It wasn’t bad, all things considered. D.A.D.A., Charms, and Muggle Studies actually gave her reason to be proud. The rest was probably mediocre in his eyes. Well, she tried her best when she felt it best to.

“What careers have you considered, Miss Clarke? –– _No_ , other than your little band.”

“Erm. I guess something to pay the bills.”

“‘Something to pay the bills,’” Snape said slowly, looking like he was really hoping she would react to his disapproval.

The problem was that Rhiannon faced disapproval every day. It didn’t have an effect on her. Professor Snape had become quite irritated both with her and the ticking of his grandfather clock. He stopped its sound. Rhiannon tried not to breathe as heavy on account of how much quieter it became.

“I don’t like to see my Slytherins end up with ‘something to pay the bills,’ Miss Clarke,” he said earnestly. “In your particular case… Well, it would be remiss of us to think that you were Sorted here for nothing, would it not?”

“Er… Maybe,” Rhiannon said. “Maybe I could become an hit-witch.”

Professor Snape’s small black eyes widened, “And what do you think being a hit-witch entails?”

“Like Aurors but… more on my level, you know?”

“You need five O.W.L.s to become a hit-witch,” Professor Snape humoured her. “It’s a dangerous path.”

This could go on all day, so Rhiannon thought it best to simply ask Professor Snape which field he thought would be best for her. He didn’t look very pleased about being asked to tell her what to do, but really, Rhiannon only saw personal fulfilment in being in Pariah.

“If you are a hit-witch, you cannot be a rock star,” he said coldly. “Putting yourself on show like that will only attract criminal attention, particularly with the rancorous nature of your music.”

Rhiannon was shocked to know that Snape paid any attention to her endeavours. She quickly understood why. Slytherin’s Blot was being too loud for her safety with Death Eaters running about, that’s why.

“I get that I’m Death Eater bait,” Rhiannon said frustratedly. “Really, my goal is to stay in the band and get successful. Like, maybe not Weird Sisters-level successful. I guess putting out an album sobered me up a bit, but at least… something more than a job I don’t care about. That’s what I want.”

“Do not use this tone with me, Clarke,” Snape said in a very low voice. “You are gravely mistaken if you think publicity at a time like this is a good thing.”

“Well, I really don’t have much to––” she started loudly, then caught herself, “to say here today, sir. My career goal is really just Pariah.”

Professor Snape stood up and started circling the room. Oh, she was really in for it now. Why hadn’t he given Hestia and Flora hell about the band? Why her? So what if she wanted to be a musician? Everybody looked down on that as a job, but then they went ahead and listened to music anyway. Like it just came out of nowhere! People _worked_ on that song to allow you to just passively listen to it and brush it off as a joke of a job!

Professor Snape also started by shouting and then caught himself. Rhiannon never listened to shouting. She didn’t much care for this growl he was pulling off, either, but she could not walk out.

“Since I am not making myself very _clear_ , Miss Clarke, allow me to tell you a story about the Greengrasses that even your dear friend Astoria does not know,” Professor Snape said, slinking all over the room. “In the 1960s, which you would know if you paid any attention in History of Magic, there took place Squib Rights marches. I happened to be a child then and have no recollection. You can imagine, I’m sure, that one of the championing groups within these marches was none other than the Greengrass family.”

 _What does this have to do with anything_?

“Anything to do with _rights_ and _protesting_ inevitably attracts the attention of the sort of people you hear from on a nearly daily basis, Miss Clarke. In almost no time at all, the Squib Rights marches were met by rioting pure-bloods, and those who thought themselves pureblood, resulting in violence. Because of the Minster for Magic’s quick response, there was only one death. The death was of Calhoun Greengrass, a great-uncle of your friend Astoria’s. Calhoun was not singled out simply for being at those marches, nor was he a Squib himself. He did not fall victim to the violent confusion in the riots. He was _personally_ attacked because Titus Lestrange found Calhoun’s vociferous editorials on human equality unsuitable to his palate. Tell me, Clarke, how is this any different from your little stage parades? How is that _any safer_ for you and your friends? Titus is long dead, but he left us two sons, whom, I might add, have escaped Azkaban.”

“Astoria never told me about that,” Rhiannon said to put off a conversation she did not want to have. “Professor Binns never said no one died in those marches.”

“She cannot tell you what is kept from her,” Professor Snape said, a sneer on his face. “And Calhoun Greengrass’s death is but a small detail in an even smaller event in history, for not long after the riots came the First Wizarding War. See, Miss Clarke, I believed you could stomach the news about poor Calhoun. You will not be so indifferent if one of your friends meets the same fate due to your tempting of the Dark Lord’s crowd.”

“I really don’t think Death Eaters wait for me to come on the wireless, sir!” Rhiannon said anxiously.

“They are not deaf and they are not idle –– that is all I am trying to tell you. You are only a teenager. You should focus on your academics and your safety. Other things, like _music_ , will come in due time to you. Perhaps not here, but somewhere and some other time.”

Professor Snape took a seat and followed Rhiannon’s nervous eyes.

“You really think so?” Rhiannon asked, but it sounded stupid coming out of her mouth. Professor Snape did not grace her with a reassuring answer. He did not care a pin about music. Rhiannon did understand, though, that he cared about her safety.

“Did you tell the twins all this, too, sir? Are you telling Astoria?”

“They are all perfectly aware of what position this band puts them in. Was Alecto Carrow not harassing you over the holidays? That is why I am doing this now.”

“Yeah…” said Rhiannon, finally pondering her lack of response to that frightening event. “Yeah… she did show up. I’m sure she knows all the Slytherin’s Blot business… People are so bloody anal about this Hous–– oh, man! I’m sorry, Professor. I’m sorry. Excuse my language. I didn’t mean to, er…”

Snape rolled his eyes to the side and reorganised his papers.

“Again, you are not here without reason, Miss Clarke. I expect all of my students to be able to reach the heights of their ambitions. I can only hope that the foundation I have built here will assist you in that. We are nearly out of time, so I ask that you take these guides regarding which occupations require which O.W.L.s. Even if your…” he sighed, “even if your chosen field is _music_.”

“Thank you, sir,” Rhiannon said, taking the stack.

“I expect an Outstanding on the Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L., Miss Clarke. Nothing less than Outstanding. I don’t care what the job applications say.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t run off yet,” he said sternly.

Rhiannon had only taken two steps back, but the intention was there.

“Professor Babbling delivered this to me this morning, since she does not have you for class,” Professor Snape said, and he held out her wand, which no longer looked like a Crup puppy’s tail.

“Oh, she’s really fixed it. Thank you, sir,” Rhiannon said, taking the wand and making to leave.

“Not so fast, Miss Clarke! Sit down again if you’re going to keep doing this.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rhiannon took her seat. Professor Snape put his elbows on his desk and his nose in yet another piece of parchment.

“Professor Babbling is the only person in this school I trust to repair wands, but even she cannot restore every nuance of the original creation. You will also see, now that you are not in such a hurry, that she has left me a note describing the differences in performance. I have never used this wand, so it means nothing to me. But she says that since the wand was repaired using the web of a dying Acromantula, it will be… well, she wrote ‘greedy,’ so I can only assume that this wand will not tolerate long periods of inactivity… ‘It expects the most out of life…’ Hmph. That should not be a problem, as you will only be subjected to the law against underage magic for another year. Defence capabilities of the wand are improved… good news for you… However, at this point in the wand’s life, the sort of careless magic you demonstrated in my class will almost certainly break it next time.”

“I understand, Professor. Thank you. I’ll have to go tell her thanks. Oh, wait… Astoria’s in double Ancient Runes now… I’ll meet her afterwards,” Rhiannon mumbled mostly to herself.

“Miss Clarke… the other wand,” Snape said, extending his hand. “I will return it to Professor Sinistra.”

“Ah, right… erm, well, sir, I have Astronomy tonight at eight. I figured I’d just give it to her myself. If that’s all right.”

“I don’t want any news from her about how you tried to talk her into keeping that wand, or to know that Professor Babbling went through all that trouble for you to complain that it’s ‘not the same.’ I already told you your wand will not be exactly the same. It is still _your_ wand, Clarke,” Snape chastised.

“I understand, sir. I promise I’ll give it to her, no trouble.”

“She’ll see to it. Go on then,” he said, shaking his head.

“Thanks for the appointment, Professor.”

“Mm. Do not hesitate to come back if you want more advice besides ‘don’t get killed.’”

Rhiannon started to laugh. It was the very first joke she’d ever heard come from Professor Snape. He raised his eyebrows at her. Of course, she knew his other words were meant to be taken seriously. He knew she knew, so he did not snuff her chuckles. Alexa Crover, on the other hand, was profoundly baffled by how good a mood in Rhiannon was when she left the office. She was next up for career advice, after all, and her talk was bound to be much different from Rhiannon’s.

“Just let him nag you first, and then it’s not bad,” Rhiannon said. “The man knows his stuff.”

Rhiannon and Hestia spent much of the evening going over the pamphlets Professor Snape had given to her, with both of them noting that the Department of Magical Transportation and the Department of Magical Games and Sports were not very strict about O.W.L.s. Rhiannon wondered if the same leniency would apply in other countries where she and the Greengrasses might relocate. She was under the impression that they would be back someday after the war, since the Greengrasses had left and came back before, so she did not bring that up to Hestia. The conversation would have upset her needlessly.

Their Tuesday Astronomy class was at eight o’clock, well before Astoria’s. They went early so that Rhiannon could return Professor Crouch’s wand. Rhiannon infrequently visited Professor Sinistra’s office, preferring to pester Astoria whenever she didn’t understand something. As teachers’ offices went, this one was by far the messiest. Hestia looked unsure of where to stand (all of the chairs had papers stacked on them), and Rhiannon took advantage of the small walkway to Sinistra’s desk. Professor Crouch’s blue and gold Doppelvanga greeted her from its large cage in the corner. Its current mimicry greeting consisted of cussing in Professor Sinistra’s voice, and it made Rhiannon laugh.

“Got my wand back from Professor Babbling, ma’am. Thanks for lending me this one,” Rhiannon said, reluctantly holding out her hand.

“Certainly,” Sinistra said, knocking over a stack of unopened envelopes with her elbow. The Doppelvanga anticipated her frustration and cussed for her, ruffling its feathers to a shimmer.

“Erm, shouldn’t you Disarm me?” Rhiannon asked when Sinistra merely held out her hand.

“Why should I do that now?” the professor asked, making Rhiannon feel like she had said the wrong thing. “This wand has been swept through and through by the Ministry before coming back into my inheritance. I am glad it worked for you.”

“It’s just that it might not be useful to _you_ , Professor,” Rhiannon said, wishing that Hestia had enough space to stand next to her instead of behind her.

“I do not need it to be. I am going to bury it tomorrow morning. They say yew wands become trees over their owner’s graves. I don’t need to hold onto this any more, now that I have proof it’s done some good. I think Jonah would like that.”

“Er, are you allowed to plant big trees in the Hogsmeade Graveyard?” Rhiannon double-checked because Sinistra seemed a bit blank at the moment.

“No, you’re not, but you’re also not allowed to bury Barty Crouch Jr there, either.”

“Ah. Well…” Rhiannon said. “I mean… it’s kinda creepy there anyway, so who needs it.”

Professor Sinistra smiled and rolled her eyes. Hestia took Rhiannon’s hand. They went upstairs and waited for class. Rhiannon couldn’t place it, but Professor Sinistra seemed much better lately. However, Rhiannon was starting to get more depressed as the week drew on. The assaults and deaths in the _Daily Prophet_ reports really weighed on her, especially in combination with Professor Snape’s words about her band. Would the concert next month really be the last hurrah for Pariah? Where exactly were the Greengrasses going to take her? How was she supposed to tell her friend P.R. at the music shop goodbye? The worst report yet sat in front of her breakfast the following Monday –– a five-year-old boy named Zale Montgomery had been attacked by a werewolf and maimed so badly that even St Mungo’s couldn’t save him. Rhiannon wondered if the werewolf had been in the Voldemort crowd that Professor Lupin was investigating. She had no way of knowing if he was still safe from the kinds of werewolves that would kill. She thought about bringing it up to Astoria, but she was busy listening to Malfoy complain about his Potions class and the Apparition test going on that day that he wasn’t allowed to take on account of still being sixteen. Rhiannon couldn’t figure how Astoria continued to think that anything that came out of Malfoy’s mouth was worth listening to. They had done more than a decent job of hiding their relationship and, to the untrained eye, appeared as nothing more than friends, but Rhiannon hated that a friendship had existed in the first place. Astoria could do so much better. Rhiannon could not help but interfere and thought of any possible way to get the two away from each other. Unfortunately, she no longer had the excuse that Draco was appearing in the Foe-Shard and had to get creative.

“Flora’s been trying to get into that psychic book of yours,” Rhiannon reported, having seen Flora try her hand at Legilimency earlier in the dormitory when Astoria was not there.

“She won’t be able to get into that one. It’s the third volume in the series. I can barely get past chapter four, and I’ve been working with Professor Sinistra for months. Flora’s out of luck. I have to trade in the last book each time I get a new one, so I don’t have the first one,” Astoria said, not looking nearly as irritated as Rhiannon wanted.

“Why do you have to trade in each book?” Rhiannon asked to stall the couple’s conversation.

“Well, she’s lending them, not giving them to me,” Astoria said simply.

Rhiannon hated how Malfoy got out of Transfiguration the same time Astoria left Arithmancy. She never knew when they would walk back to the common room together or not. Sometimes she made a point to round up the twins and meet Astoria after Arithmancy herself, because Astoria wasn’t never back on time when she walked with Malfoy…

Astoria wasn’t in the common room or the dormitory when Rhiannon and the twins got back from Astronomy that night. It was almost ten o’clock, which was past curfew. Rhiannon and Hestia were very nearly about to start a rant, but Flora beat them to it.

“One of these days, she’s going to realise he’s no good, and it’s going to be too late.”

“I had a talk with him,” Rhiannon admitted. “He really does like her, but the only thing _that_ tells me is that he’s going to do anything to keep her. He’s a selfish prat. He doesn’t even make that much time for her overall, if you noticed. He’s always AWOL, pretending he has to do prefect things.”

“Wait –– what if he’s totally sneaking off with Parkinson?” Hestia gasped.

“No, he’s not. And I ain’t sticking up for him, either. But if he was with Parkinson, she wouldn’t be so sad and angry all the time. I know for a fact she’s got so much detention that Snape has to trade her with other teachers. Malfoy’s got nothing to do with Parkinson and way too much to do with Astoria.”

“I rather miss her,” said Flora glumly. “It’s almost like she’s only with us when she can’t find Malfoy. You two aren’t like that. You’re like, normal about it. You spend a normal amount of time together, and a normal amount of time with your friends. She drops _everything_ when Malfoy comes back from his… I don’t know. His sulk-fests or whatever he’s doing.”

“Yeah, me and Hestia aren’t gonna stop hanging out with you. It’s because it’s Malfoy. If it was anyone else, she’d be in the common room right now. Ugh. I don’t even wanna think about it.”

“We could go on a hunt,” Hestia said cheekily with both fists balled.

“Nah, I’m sure she’ll be back soon,” Rhiannon said, but they had all fallen asleep without her there.

The lamplight from the hallway washed gently onto Rhiannon’s face, who opened her eyes to see the still-empty bed next to her.

“Blimey, it’s a million o’clock at night, Astoria,” she grumbled.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Astoria whispered.

Rhiannon rolled onto her back. Hestia was still sound asleep to her left, and in the bed beyond her, Flora had fortunately not jumped up.

“We gotta talk,” Rhiannon said, and she cast the _Muffliato_ charm on the twins.

Astoria was shrouded in darkness, so Rhiannon couldn’t see her expression as she ushered her into the bathroom. The door clicked lightly behind them, and Rhiannon lit the lamp.

“I’m sorry,” Astoria said again.

“You don’t need to be out this late with him,” Rhiannon said. “Any reason he doesn’t spend time with you earlier in the day can’t be a good one. You know I don’t like Malfoy, but I’m saying this as your friend. About any bloke.”

“I know, I know,” Astoria said, looking in the mirror and not at Rhiannon.

“Astoria.”

“Yes?”

Rhiannon dried the tub out and took a seat in it. Astoria stood there like this wasn’t going to be a long conversation. So, Rhiannon motioned for her to sit at the other end of the tub, and she didn’t argue.

“What’s going on?”

“I lost track of the time, and then we had to keep taking the long way to avoid the Aurors and Mr Filch… and now it’s really late, and I’m so sorry I woke you up.”

“I’m not even worried about being woke up. I’m worried about you, running out this late… er, I mean early. See, now I sound like your parents. The point is I’m your friend, and you can talk to me. Even –– Even if it’s about Malfoy. So, what’s going on?” Rhiannon said, but her gesturing about had made one of Astoria’s hair products fall off the bath shelf and into her lap.

This wasn’t as easy as she had thought. Somehow, Rhiannon came to believe that it was all her fault. She wasn’t there when Astoria needed her, and now this. Maybe Astoria knew about Rhiannon and Hestia’s increasing closeness. Maybe she felt peer pressure because of them. Maybe she was trying to act older because she was promoted a year in school. Rhiannon felt awful.

“I don’t want you to think that just because me and Hestia… er…”

Astoria gave her a vacuous look at first, then blinked quickly.

“Oh! Do you need to talk about anything?” Astoria asked.

Rhiannon really didn’t want to turn this conversation in on herself. She was rather surprised Astoria had asked her so openly, though.

“N-No, not really.” said Rhiannon.

Now that Astoria had asked, Rhiannon was starting to get embarrassed. Could she really talk to Astoria about something like that? Here, in the tub, with Hestia asleep right outside? They were all friends. It would be weird to tell Astoria how Hestia didn’t care about her freak basilisk arm or her stretch marks, and how much that meant… The way Hestia traced the lines of Rhiannon’s back tattoo, saying all sorts of things Rhiannon could never put into words… It would be _way_ too weird!

“Er… do _you_ need to talk about… something?” Rhiannon asked Astoria instead.

Rhiannon should have known better than to bother her with that question. Astoria had parents and religion and stuff like that, which was for the best. That kept Astoria out of trouble. But she had to make sure that her best friend was okay. Astoria had looked out for Rhiannon when Asenath was in the picture. Astoria was a very responsible person.

“Well, erm, actually…” Astoria said, and looked at the nearest bath sponge like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

 _Noooooooooooo, Astoria, nooooooooooooo_!

“Sometimes I wish I did have more to say,” Astoria said with a bleak giggle.

 _Oh thank goodness_ , Rhiannon thought, letting out an even more pathetic sound.

“Is that bad? Is that rotten of me to say?” Astoria said, laughing into her hand. “I’m sorry, Rhi.”

_Yeah it’s bad –– it’s Malfoy! Come on!_

“I mean, I can’t, er…say…” Rhiannon said awkwardly. “I mean, I’m sure it’s different for each person, like… what they were taught… And, er, who the other person is. I dunno.”

Rhiannon wasn’t very good at talking about this.

Astoria kept on grinning, “Well, I wasn’t taught to wish I had some big story to tell you.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so…” Rhiannon said. “Er, I’m sure you know I’m _not_ wanting any big stories… It’s really early on, I think… We’re in school and all.”

“Oh, I know, Rhi. Don’t worry. We’re not near that point,” Astoria said. “It’s wistful thinking on my part.”

“I don’t think ‘wistful’s’ the word, Astoria,” Rhiannon managed to giggle.

“Cut it out! You asked! What about you, then, hm? This is the first I’m hearing it!”

“I really wasn’t counting on telling you about it in the ruddy tub.”

“ _Was_ it in the tub?” Astoria squealed, smacking Rhiannon’s arm.

“ _Merlin_ , _Astoria_ , settle down! What’s happened to you‽” Rhiannon responded, since Astoria was literally never vulgar.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a much smaller voice. “I couldn’t help myself. I really thought… you would have talked to me about things.”

“Well, there’s not much to… to say like you think. I mean, I _would_ tell you,” Rhiannon maintained, since it was obvious Astoria was troubled.

Rhiannon knew the feeling, since she had objected to Astoria’s being secretive about Malfoy not so long ago. She really wanted Astoria to be able to come to her about anything, big or small. The difference was now, though, that she didn’t feel so entitled to the information. She truly wanted to be there for Astoria no matter what. If they couldn’t talk to each other, who else could they talk to?

“I didn’t mean to leave you in the dark on purpose, Astoria. It’s just you’re, erm… straight and religious… and those things usually don’t add up to me being able to talk.”

It sounded very blunt out loud, but Astoria was unfazed. Oh, that was right. She was pure-blood. They didn’t hate people for being gay; they just hated people for being Muggles.

“Straight and religious? Rhi, that doesn’t matter. You can tell me anything,” Astoria said cheerfully. “Because if you talk to Flora, she would strangle you for messing with her sister.”

“Yeah, she would… Well, anyway, you can talk to me too if you need, because Flora would also strangle Malfoy if it came to it,” Rhiannon said.

“I was under the impression that _you_ would strangle him.”

“Oh, I will, but like, in a less Dark-artsy way than Flora.”

“Wow, thanks, Rhiannon. Means so much,” Astoria said. “He’s scared of me anyway.”

“As he should be.”

“No, he thinks he’s going to ruin my life or something. He’s always worried about me, worried he’s bad for me, and he’s oblivious to any hints, er, whatever, you know… It really wrecks the mood sometimes. Not that I… er… You know what I mean.”

Rhiannon was extremely relieved to hear it and tried her best not to show that. What mattered more to their friendship, though, was that they both could talk openly and look after each other. Even if had to be in the tub after midnight.

The next morning, almost as though the tub conversation had Summoned her from clear across the country, Mrs Ciel-Greengrass surprised Astoria by showing up at breakfast in the Great Hall. She looked sad that Daphne and Astoria still did not sit anywhere near each other, and made quite the scene of bringing them together at the side of the table. More than half of the Slytherin student body found this to be hilarious, but Astoria was ignoring them. Rhiannon knew that anxious look on her face. She was thinking that her mother was only at school because somebody had died. Fortunately, that was not the case. Katie Bell, the Gryffindor who had been cursed six months prior, was finally back in school, and since Mrs Ciel-Greengrass was a volunteer tutor at St Mungo’s, she was helping Katie with the transition of coursework. Mrs Ciel-Greengrass took that job very seriously. (She only popped in to talk to her daughter _every single time_ she was not with one of Katie’s teachers). Rhiannon, Hestia, and Flora all observed that Malfoy avoided Astoria the entire day her mother was there and hoped that Astoria would notice the red flag. She did not.

Everything started to get busy for Rhiannon and Astoria anyway. The Hogsmeade concert, where Pariah would open for Spellbound, was on the seventeenth of May, and O.W.L.s were scheduled from the ninth of June to the twentieth. Nearly any time that wasn’t spent in class was spent in the Astronomy Library, where the group realised how much more preparation they should have been doing for the exams. Even Flora, whose nose was rarely outside of a book, suddenly realised that she had no recollection of her entire first year of Arithmancy and that the notes from that class no longer made sense to her.

“I can’t believe I can do all this and not understand the basics anymore!” Flora exclaimed as Astoria tried to calm her down.

Fortunately, each of the girls had different skills, and they had started taking turns on which study sessions to lead. Rhiannon obviously led Muggle Studies for Hestia and Flora whilst Astoria would go to the main library with Montel to study Ancient Runes. Rhiannon also led D.A.D.A. and Charms with duelling practise, which really helped her confidence, whilst Hestia was in charge of Herbology and Potions. They split off for the electives, with Rhiannon and Hestia getting quality time (and a small amount of studying done) for Care of Magical Creatures, whilst Astoria and Flora continued on with Arithmancy. Flora managed Transfiguration and was the only one who knew what History of Magic was about. It went without saying that Astoria tutored for Astronomy, reminding them over and over again about what would be visible in the sky during the time of their practical O.W.L. The only times they weren’t allowed to hide out in the Astronomy Library were when the first-years needed it and when Astoria had her creepy Legilimency lessons. It was during one of those lessons when Rhiannon and the twins used the excuse to take a break from studying and played cards in the common room. They were so engrossed in the game that Rhiannon hardly noticed when Theodore Nott came barrelling in, claiming that Draco Malfoy had been nearly killed in a fight.

Flora was the one who turned her head and processed it first, and her hesitation for her next move in the game made Rhiannon revisit the noises from Theodore she had just heard. Malfoy, nearly killed? Huh, that sounded sort of important, didn’t it?

“Should we, er, go get her?” Hestia asked. “I mean, it’s nearly dinner, so she’s probably about. Maybe she already knows.”

“Yeah, maybe she does,” Rhiannon said, trying her best to conjure up some sort of opinion on the event. She could not help but think Malfoy had done something very bad to have got into a duel so vicious. But she didn’t want him dead or anything. Theodore was going on and on to anyone who would listen… Harry Potter… an ugly curse… blood loss…

“Is he dead or what, Nott?” Rhiannon called.

“No, he’s not _dead_ , Clarke!” Theodore shouted. “Thanks to Professor Snape! He saved his life! Draco was torn all up––”

“Good old Snape,” said Rhiannon. “Always catching us before we get mauled by them Gryffindors.”

“I do think this is serious, Rhiannon,” Flora said quietly. “We ought to meet up with Astoria whether she already knows or not. You know her.”

“Yeah, alright. Let’s go. Remember your hands, you two, because I’m nearly winning this game,” Rhiannon said.

Astoria was not at the dinner table, which could only mean that she was already at the Hospital Wing. They found Astoria sitting on one of the new seats that Madam Pomfrey had finally allowed to be put in the hallway, looking completely shocked to see her friends arriving and stood to greet them. Rhiannon wasn’t sure whether she was supposed to be offended or complimented by Astoria’s surprise.

“Well?” was all Rhiannon could croak out.

“I only know what Myrtle told me,” Astoria said. “If you can find Myrtle, she’ll give you a first-hand account. I haven’t talked to anyone but Myrtle and Theodore. I’ve been sitting here.”

“What did Myrtle say? It was in a bathroom, then?” Hestia asked.

“Yes, apparently Harry Potter came in. Draco was at the sink, and they started firing spells. Myrtle said Harry Potter cast some curse called Sectumsempra… Flora, do you know that curse?”

“Never heard of it in my life,” said Flora. “Sounds highly unpleasant.”

Astoria rubbed the corner of her eye. She wasn’t very talkative.

“Draco lost a lot of blood,” was all she said, and sat back down. “He’s on potions.”

Rhiannon took the seat next to her and wrapped an arm over her shoulders.

“He’s gonna be okay, Astoria. Theodore said Snape took care of him before even bringing him here.”

Astoria nodded. The Hospital Wing doors were locked, and there was very little noise coming out of them. About ten minutes later, more Malfoy admirers arrived. Theodore, Myrtle, or somebody else who caught wind of the event had succeeded in getting Parkinson there. Astoria was only watching her tightly folded hands; Rhiannon thought she might not even know Parkinson was nearby. Theodore came later, tried his best to see through the crack in the doors. He ended up folding his arms and pacing round. The pacing brought Astoria’s attention upward, and she noticed Parkinson. They did not say anything. It was more than disturbing. Rhiannon thought since they were so close to the Hospital Wing, they might have a go at a duel of their own. But they stayed very quiet. If there was any noise at all, it all ceased the moment when Snape’s figure appeared at the end of the corridor.

“Go to dinner, all of you,” he said roughly.

“When will––?” Astoria dared.

“ _Later_ ,” Snape hissed, and went alone through the double doors.

Astoria ate lightly, occasionally having to stop and pat her eyes. Rhiannon noticed the difference between her quiet anxiety and Parkinson’s empty anger. Parkinson was already telling her own version of the story, making sure to keep part of her energy devoted to gesturing at the Gryffindor table and another part devoted to watching when Astoria would finish her meal. Rhiannon knew that meant Parkinson was trying to beat her back to the Hospital Wing, as though that mattered. They’d both just have to wait more. And even Rhiannon knew Malfoy didn’t care to see Parkinson.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want,” Astoria said to her friends as her plate cleared.

“We’ll stick with you, Astoria,” Hestia said, squeezing Rhiannon’s hand under the table. “We know you’re worried. It’ll be okay. I don’t want you waiting with Parkinson all by yourself.”

“I can handle her,” Astoria replied firmly, “but I appreciate the company. I just know that––”

“Nah, it’s all right. For something like this, we’ll all go,” Rhiannon said, taking the cue from her girlfriend.

Rhiannon noticed that not very many people jumped up to go visit Malfoy. It was weird; he had been so popular when Rhiannon first came to Hogwarts that it seemed like he could snap his fingers and the whole House would bow. Yet the Quidditch team seemed satisfied that if he wasn’t dead, he didn’t need visiting. Blaise Zabini, his roommate, didn’t even budge when he was done with his plate. Snape had saved Malfoy, and that was that. Rhiannon even got the impression that Crabbe and Goyle were only going with Parkinson out of sheer curiosity. With Rhiannon, Hestia, and Flora also satisfied that Malfoy was out of the woods, Rhiannon realised that his only genuine visitors were Astoria and Theodore. Times had really changed.

Rhiannon wanted to get on with her evening, but she stuck out the wait for Astoria. She nearly felt like she was waiting out those two’s relationship on the whole, but she had to show her support or else Astoria wouldn’t readily talk to her about it. Rhiannon was at first relieved when the double doors opened after _ages_ of sitting, but she quickly sat back in her seat when she saw that it was Draco’s mum leaving. The woman looked very angry… She had one of those faces for sure, but this evening she looked _very_ , very angry. Professor Snape was close behind her. Malfoy Mum stared upwards during her catwalk past the students, but must have remembered something and turned back.

“Theodore, I have moved your things to Mrs Goyle’s,” she said summarily.

Goyle, as per usual, looked like he hadn’t a clue what she was talking about. Rhiannon guessed that with a dad in prison and a dead mum, Theodore had had nowhere else to go except the Malfoy’s. Now he was being relocated.

“Oh… thank you, Mrs Malfoy…?” Theodore said inquisitively, but Malfoy Mum did not say anything else to him.

Rhiannon felt the woman’s eyes fall way down onto her and did not make a move. Astoria did quite the opposite. She stood up straight. It was unthinkable to the rest of them –– Rhiannon could feel it in the air –– but Astoria spoke to Mrs Malfoy right on the spot.

“Is he well enough for visitors, Mrs Malfoy?”

“Yes, Madam Pom––” Professor Snape reacted, but he was swiftly cut out.

“What makes you think he wants this sort of company, Miss Greengrass?” Malfoy Mum sneered.

 _Damn, Astoria, sit down_. _Just wait for her to leave if you have to_.

“I cannot assume that he does, Mrs Malfoy,” Astoria said without a shiver to her voice.

“Well, dear,” Mrs Malfoy said coldly, “the Matron only allows six visitors at a time. Do not think about it too hard.”

With a final glare at Rhiannon, Malfoy Mum escorted Professor Snape past the eight students and down the corridor, even though he was likely supposed to be the one escorting her. She probably had some Death Eater rave to attend. She was not nearly as tame now that she didn’t have to suck up to the Greengrasses anymore.

“She was talking about me and Hestia leaving, wasn’t she?” Rhiannon asked proudly as Astoria was looking in to see Madam Pomfrey’s official signal.

“No, she wanted you and me to leave and let the other six go in. She wouldn’t say that of a Carrow,” Astoria said offhandedly, not caring an ounce that Parkinson was listening.

“Oh, really? Hm. I don’t speak rich bitch,” Rhiannon whispered.

“I’m fluent,” Astoria said readily, and she led the charge through the double doors.

Although Crabbe and Goyle looked ready to be the ones to stay behind, Hestia and Rhiannon cemented themselves in the threshold.

“Hello, Astoria,” Malfoy said, a rare breach in their secrecy.

He looked thrilled to be in the Hospital Wing and to have attention coming his way. Rhiannon had not seen him this happy in a year.

“How are you now, Draco? We’ve heard terrible things,” Astoria asked; Rhiannon knew it was taking all of her might not to hug him.

“They say I’ll be better, but I’m still in a lot of residual pain from the curse,” Malfoy whined, motioning slowly along the dittany-soaked Plasterleaves all over his chest.

Hestia rolled her eyes whilst Malfoy started telling the group his own version of the event. This was the third or fourth time Rhiannon heard it, and it definitely was getting gorier with each retelling. She knew of the animosity between Harry and Malfoy, and, seeing that Snape had fixed Malfoy all up, Rhiannon couldn’t help but partially blame him. Malfoy’s dad, a grown man, had literally attacked Harry in the fight at the Ministry. It was all over the papers. Harry shouldn’t have used the curse he did –– that much was true –– but Malfoy must have tried or succeeded at something equally nasty at some point. Hestia and Rhiannon sat back down; Flora was doing a fine job of guarding Astoria from Parkinson.

When Malfoy must have finished his account (Hestia and Rhiannon had stopped paying attention), Parkinson grabbed the courage to ask him how he was feeling herself. Her voice was shrill and echoing. Rhiannon leaned forward to see what would happen. In comparison to the theatrical whinge he had given Astoria, Malfoy’s response could not have been more subdued.

“I’m fine, Pansy, thank you.”

Parkinson looked heartbroken anew; she wasn’t even given fussing privileges anymore. Past Crabbe’s potatolike head, Rhiannon saw Malfoy tugging on each ear one at a time, like he was counting them. Then he made a face at Parkinson when she wasn’t looking. Astoria found this display very entertaining.

“I think we can go. Flora’s got everything under control,” Rhiannon said to Hestia’s relief.

~

Astoria was not herself after Malfoy got minced (he was fine by the end of the week, by the way). It was not unusual for her to skip a Quidditch match, but it was unusual for her to be so overtly sour. Rhiannon noticed that Astoria was spending more time reading the near-constant stream of letters her parents sent her and making hardly any conversation. She was not as prone to tell the other girls where she was spending her time, but Flora eventually figured out that Astoria was hiding in Pince’s library.

“She didn’t even notice me,” Flora said, not realising that she was a very quiet girl herself. “Look what I found crumpled up under her chair when she left.”

Rhiannon couldn’t help but chuckle at first, but then she felt awful about having done it. Astoria had drafted a letter to the Headmaster about violence in Hogwarts. Rhiannon could tell why it was crumpled up, since the letter lacked Astoria’s usual eloquence, but there was a list scrawled emotionally onto the parchment.

**_Acts of Violence in Hogwarts_ **

  1. **_Basilisk attacks on several students,_**
  2. **_Death of Cedric Diggory,_**
  3. **_Sectumsempra curse used on Draco Malfoy,_**
  4. **_Dolores Umbridge’s quill that carved into students’ hands,_**
  5. **_The other parts of that Triwizard Tournament that didn’t involve a student dying,_**
  6. **_Detentions being held in the Forbidden Forest? The same one with man-eating creatures?_**



Astoria must have run out of ideas, but Rhiannon had enough knowledge to fill in at least four more spaces, not neglecting the attack Parkinson made. Seeing the list got Rhiannon thinking, and not only because some of those things on the list involved her. Over the years, Rhiannon had come to expect being hurt physically. But really, she shouldn’t have to fear that sort of thing at school, which was nowhere near her parents.

Rhiannon, Hestia, and Flora planned to talk to Astoria when they got into the dormitory.

“ _Legilimens_ ,” Astoria chanted, her covers wrapped round her shoulders. “I said _Legilimens_!”

“No luck with chapter five?” Rhiannon asked.

“Oh, I’ve got it now,” Astoria said unfeelingly.

There were grip marks on the book cover where Astoria’s nails had dug in. The girls didn’t end up interrupting her that evening, although in next morning’s Potions class, Ginevra Weasley made known that she had officially got tired of Astoria’s staring. Rhiannon hadn’t been glaring at Ginny like Astoria, but she wasn’t exactly conversational with her, either. Even to Rhiannon, it seemed unsavoury how Ginny started dating Harry the exact same week he tried to dice up Malfoy.

“It’s obviously bothering you,” Ginevra said to Astoria, who had kept a close eye on her over their maturing Strengthening Solutions.

Astoria didn’t answer, and Rhiannon listened more intently.

“Just so you know, Malfoy tried to cast the Cruciatus Curse seconds before Harry cast that spell. Also, Harry saw the incantation _by itself_ in a book and used it without knowing what it did. But I’m pretty sure we all know what the Cruciatus Curse does,” Ginny said.

“The Cruciatus Curse –– are you serious? That could be something Harry’s simply telling you,” Astoria replied.

Ginny looked nearly ready for a row, but she settled herself. Rhiannon admired her self-control.

“Yes, I’m serious. Harry doesn’t lie to me. I guess I can’t blame you, what with Myrtle conveniently choosing to leave that part out as she spreads this rumour all over,” Ginny said.

After class, Astoria broke away from the group. The Slytherins all had double Charms next, and the break between wasn’t as long as Astoria’s face looked like she needed to be. Rhiannon didn’t know where she thought she was going.

“Erm, Astoria?”

“I’m going to talk to Myrtle during the break.”

“Myrtle might tell you only what she wants to.”

“Oh? That’s not her decision anymore,” Astoria said severely.

Rhiannon signalled to Hestia and Flora that she would take care of their dissolute friend, and she dashed past the multitude of eyes now following the two.

“You can’t use that psychic spell on a ghost, silly,” Rhiannon said, trying to keep it jovial.

“I can try.”

“No –– no you can’t, even if it will work,” Rhiannon said, finally getting a hold of Astoria’s arm and, hopefully, her moral compass.

They were now way ahead of the group, but Rhiannon only had a few moments to privately get out what she wanted to say.

“I know you’re really into Legilimency because you grew up where everyone tells lies to protect you and stuff. Or they hide things from you. So I get how it seems tempting, and I get how it’s frustrating to not be able to ‘read’ Draco at all. But I think the real issue here is that you feel you can’t trust what comes out his mouth. Which, as we’ve seen before, is kind of true! If you can’t take his word for it what that fight was like, then maybe you need to stop and think about what sort of relationship you wanna have.”

Astoria inhaled, but their classmates were nearing them once more, and she kept on storming forward to the nearest bathroom. Rhiannon followed her, but nothing happened yet. They had to wait for Amy Frome to leave. Then, Astoria shot a beam of light down the sink.

“Myrtle, I want to talk to you!”

Myrtle arrived very quickly since she wasn’t used to people _asking_ to see her. She had been crying recently, but oddly enough, she looked like she was trying to stifle it. Usually, she wailed on and on.

“I have a friend who told me that Draco tried to cast the Cruciatus Curse. Did you or did you not see him try to cast that?” Astoria got right to the point.

“I don’t know about that –– it happened very fast…” Myrtle stalled, adjusting her glasses.

“‘Fast!’ Time is irrelevant to you. You are a ghost,” Astoria said. “Did you or did you not see him try to cast the Cruciatus Curse?”

“What do you care?” Myrtle wailed. “You know what happened to poor Draco! Blood all over –– he was nearly dying!”

“I _care_ because I happen to have a close relationship with Draco and an equally strong distaste for the Cruciatus Curse!”

“You… then _you_ must be… the girl he…” Myrtle said, tearing up again.

She started to scream, and turned on all the taps, taking care to splash about in the sink she had arrived through, getting Astoria right in the face with water. Astoria didn’t act like she noticed, but Rhiannon expected a rant about the state of her hair later.

“Maybe…” Myrtle said, having calmed down after seeing Astoria and Rhiannon’s lack of reaction. “Maybe you know what to do, then… I don’t seem to do anything right… I’m scared for my Draco.”

“Malfoy’s still in danger?” Rhiannon asked incredulously. Surely Harry wasn’t going to try something again. Myrtle was always overreacting.

“It’s something he said that scares me. I don’t know what he meant! It’s so awful… I feel so bad for him!”

“What’d he say?” Rhiannon pressed.

“Right before Harry came in and they started fighting, Draco said, ‘he says he’ll kill me.’ I don’t know what to do! I don’t think he was talking about Harry, although he might as well have been! Why are so many people unkind to my Draco…?” Myrtle cried.

“ _Who_ says he’ll kill him?” Astoria stepped forward to the sink, which was still overflowing.

“I don’t know! I don’t know! Draco hasn’t come back to see me since… since Harry ruined it! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH I DON’T KNOW HOW TO HELP!”

“I don’t know either, Myrtle, but we’re doing all we can, aren’t we?” Astoria said, drying her face off in her sleeve.

“YOU CAN’T TELL ANYONE, ASTORIA! YOU CAN’T TELL HIM I TOLD YOU! YOU JUST _CAN’T_!”

“I won’t, Myrtle. Thank you,” Astoria said.

They had to leave her crying in there (she was called _Moaning_ Myrtle for a reason) and make their way to Charms. Astoria asked Rhiannon to dry her off, and Rhiannon did her best, but Astoria’s hair did end up quite as frizzy as her own.

“Alright, I’m confused,” Rhiannon said. “Who’s trying to do Malfoy in? Is he saying that to get attention?”

“No, he’s not. Haven’t you seen the change in him? He’s getting even worse. There’s something going on that he’s not telling me. I have a bad feeling that I know what it’s about.”

“Let’s hear it, then.”

“The Lestranges. They’re on the loose. Bellatrix is Draco’s aunt. I bet they all got in contact with the Malfoys. One of those brothers must have threatened Draco. Maybe they even used the Cruciatus Curse on him; that seems to be their favourite. It’s no wonder it was on his mind to cast it in an emergency.”

Rhiannon nodded, but she wasn’t entirely convinced. Astoria had a bad habit of jumping to conclusions based on limited information. A few notable examples included the assumption that Rhiannon had been smitten with Malfoy and that Professor Sinistra had helped her husband resurrect Voldemort. The Lestranges were out there for sure, but Rhiannon doubted that Malfoy Mum would let them harm her precious child.

“What if it’s nothing to do with the Lestranges and he was saying that for added effect? You know how he is round girls who like him. Even if Myrtle is a spook,” Rhiannon said carefully.

“It has to be the Lestranges.”

“It doesn’t have to be the Lestranges.”

“Well, I’m going to talk to him at some point, aren’t I?”

“Is he going to answer _honestly_?”

“Rhiannon!”

“I don’t want you dating someone who lies to you! I don’t care if it’s Malfoy or Merlin himself! I don’t want you to get in the habit of relying on Legilimency for the rest of your life. You deserve to have people who tell you the truth, mind-reading or not,” Rhiannon argued. “How’d he become such a good Occlumens anyway? I doubt he let his mum cast that on him!”

“I don’t know, Rhiannon. Let’s just go to Charms.”

“Astoria, please, wait.”

Rhiannon couldn’t take it anymore. Astoria should have never started dating somebody like Malfoy. It had been hard for Rhiannon to argue with her about it before, because what she feared most was losing a friend, or at least losing Astoria’s trust. Maybe Malfoy wasn’t in the Foe-Shard anymore, but there was unmistakably something bad going on with him ever since his dad went to prison.

“I think this Legilimency stuff has given you false confidence. And no, I’m not saying this ’cause I’m jealous. I don’t want you to end up like Sinistra. She uses Legilimency so much –– I think I seen her use it to check the time when other people look at their watches! But you know that didn’t help her in the end, did it? With Crouch?”

“You’re likening Draco to _Barty Crouch_?” Astoria said, offended. “Professor Sinistra doesn’t like how _you_ keep his mask, you know! She knows you have it!”

“I don’t care if she knows! You’re only bringing that up to distract from the real point!”

“Maybe I am!” Astoria cried out. “Professor Sinistra thinks it too, deep down! She thinks I’m going to end up… She thinks… Well, she doesn’t understand!”

“Astoria, please get rid of Malfoy. I’m not going to try and tell you why because you already know better,” Rhiannon said.

Needless to say, Astoria did not get rid of Malfoy. She did not meet up with her friends to prepare for the concert, either. She stayed out late after her Astronomy class. Rhiannon felt helpless. What bothered her almost as much as Astoria’s blindness was that she knew that Malfoy truly and honestly cared for her. Rhiannon and Hestia had a long talk about how they might approach Astoria in a more helpful way, but it still amounted to nothing. One morning, they all received mail from Mr Mongaby that the Hogsmeade concert had been cancelled. The frontwitch of Spellbound, the band they were opening for, had been receiving death threats from a blood supremacist. The people at In.fine.it. were working on a new date, but Rhiannon was fed up. After Transfiguration, she took Hestia to their favourite spot on the rickety bridge.

Hestia had always had a habit of waiting for Rhiannon to speak. Rhiannon was aware of her own habit of talking first. Hestia shouldn’t have to wait for her loud mouth all the time, though. She shouldn’t base her opinions on Rhiannon’s. Rhiannon tried to be more gentle this time.

“So… the concert,” she said.

“Yeah… that’s awful, isn’t it? Death threats!” Hestia said. “I was really disappointed about the concert at first, but I guess it’s for the best it’s cancelled.”

“Yeah.”

Hestia was wearing dark blue lipstick, which she had worn at the last concert. It was bolder than she was used to, but it suited her. Her nails were neon green –– well, purebloods never used the word “neon,” they always said “fluorescent.” Either way, Hestia could never be without colour all over. Rhiannon always felt a bit sloppy and drab in comparison. She conjured a flower and placed it in Hestia’s silky brown hair.

“Oh? What’s this for?” Hestia smiled, touching the flower.

“Something bright on a grey day.”

“Hold still, Rhi,” Hestia said, and she proceeded to conjure tiny flowers on the side of Rhiannon’s head.

“Whoa –– that’s too many!” Rhiannon giggled.

Hestia ignored her protest and put the flowers all through Rhiannon’s hair. She had such freeness about her, happy to keep conjuring little blossoms that fell round their feet. She sent even more to float downward over the edge of the bridge. Rhiannon didn’t know how to bring up what she was thinking. Everything that Professor Snape had told her, combined with Alecto’s visit to the concert, Astoria’s wild assumptions about the Lestranges, and now the death threats… it all seemed like Pariah should come to an end. At the same time, it seemed like the worst possible moment to try to disband. They would have done all that work for nothing. Rhiannon had spent her whole life brassic, and they were at the highest point in their popularity now. She had to protect her friends, though. And she had to protect her Muggle-born self. Being safe started with the end of Pariah. It was so unfair.

“Rhi,” Hestia said, for she noticed Rhiannon’s grimacing.

Rhiannon wrapped her arms around her. They swayed side to side absentmindedly and took turns trying to make eye contact. Rhiannon didn’t want to put any ideas in Hestia’s head. She was so tired of all of these serious conversations.

“Can I tell you something?” Hestia asked.

“You don’t gotta ask first.”

“I think we should take a break from Pariah. I’ve been worried ever since the Azkaban breakout, but now it seems like the Death Eaters are running out of ideas. They’re going after ‘blood-traitors’ in general, and… and little children…”

“I think you’re right, Hestia.”

“Y-You do?”

“I think that’s the wisest thing to do at this point. I’ll write to Mongaby tonight… No, let’s both of us do it.”

“Well, Mongaby, you know what he’s going to say. We owe In.fine.it. one more album. We’re finally selling records.”

“I’ll say ‘hiatus.’ If he gets snippy, I’ll get the Greengrasses involved.”

“The Greengrasses… Sometimes I wish I lived with those Greengrasses,” Hestia sighed.

“Someday we’re not gonna need to wish that.”

Hestia flushed almost to the colour of the flower in her hair.

“Hestia, I been meaning to tell you, I think I’m gonna have to leave until this war’s done. I think I’m gonna have to leave with the Greengrasses. They don’t know when.”

“Oh…” Hestia peeped, and her grey-green eyes welled with tears.

“I’m sorry, Hestia. They started talking about it over Easter and I didn’t know what to say. I don’t know what else to do.”

“No, no, Rhi. I’m happy,” Hestia said, and buried her face in Rhiannon’s shoulder. “I’m so thankful that they’re looking after you. Because I can’t. I’m useless and I can’t do anything to protect you.”

“It’s not your job, Hestia. Calm down. It’s not your job.”

“I can’t stand the thought of anyone hurting you. Are you finishing out the year? Are you taking your O.W.L.s?”

It was hard to understand Hestia with her mouth in Rhiannon’s shoulder blade, but Rhiannon figured it out and said that she highly doubted Mr Greengrass would let them get out of taking the O.W.L.s. Hestia repositioned and placed her chin up, closing in more.

“I’ll miss you so much.”

“I’d take you with me if I could, Hestia. And I’ll come back once I can. I don’t know when that is, so… you don’t got to wait for me.”

“You already know I will.”

“I will too. Er, Hestia?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know how you’d go about this, but maybe you could ask Astoria to help you with Occlumency a little. I don’t want to leave and have them still be able to find out you’re a blood-traitor.”

“They already know I’m a blood-traitor.”

“I mean a ‘big, honking Mudwallower’ as Diane Carter put it.”

“Can I be frank with you on this? The thought of Astoria using Legilimency on me as an exercise is scarier than the Death Eaters using it on me wholeheartedly.”

Rhiannon laughed and squeezed Hestia tight. They ended up playing with the band on the day of the concert –– a harmless jam session alone in the music room for old time’s sake.


	24. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my playlist is [located here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy)
> 
> Chapter 24 - "Black" by Pearl Jam

Draco had to steady his nerves after the cursing incident with Potter. He had no more room to be emotional or scared. Draco had not envisioned this mission dragging out for the entire year, but here it was: the tail end of May. Astoria was studying vigourously for her O.W.L.s, so Draco did not need as many excuses for his long absences (not that he used very good ones in the first place). The Vanishing Cabinet remained thorny. Draco had consulted the library and had tried every relevant mending charm first, followed by all of the irrelevant ones. Because this cabinet used dimensional magic, the normal spells never worked. He was left with thick, jargon-filled books about the Floo Network, a far cry from the magic used in the cabinet. Somehow, yet still painfully slowly, he was making progress. He had sent a few newspapers through the cabinet. They came back torn. It was better than the spiders he had sent through before. But Draco knew that if he stepped in there, he would die.

 _Can you imagine_? Draco thought bitterly. _I was told to kill Dumbledore and I could end up killing a whole squad of other Death Eaters this way_.

The teasing tangibility of seeing his goal realised made Draco consider the consequences of his mission more seriously. He had to be choosy about the Death Eaters he would inform. The Lestranges were all mental, so they were out. Corban Yaxley, on the other hand, had a certain professionalism that Draco might need. The Carrows were a tough pair, and they also had family here. That would be a good choice. Anybody he picked would need to have enough faith in the Dark Lord to be at the scene of Dumbledore’s murder willingly. He could not invite new recruits, nor could he invite the ones who killed anything that moved. Draco did not know how long it would take the Ministry to arrive at the crime scene, but he guessed he would have ample time given their history.

Once the Ministry did arrive, though, things would get sticky whether Draco was still there or not. Even if he could make it beyond the grounds of Hogwarts and Disapparate, what sort of scene he and the other Death Eaters left behind would determine whether or not he had caused an inconvenience to the Dark Lord. The immensely important deed being done, inconveniences were still frowned upon. Draco, in his ignorant pride and excitement, had told too many fickle friends about his Dark Mark. He had become paranoid. He pulled Theodore aside after D.A.D.A. one humid morning.

“I need your help in undoing a mistake I made,” Draco admitted at last.

“What could you possibly think I’ll agree to?”

“I told Pansy and Blaise that I…” he whispered and pointed to his arm.

“You don’t mean… No. A Memory Charm, Draco? No.”

“I’m getting very close,” Draco exaggerated. “I can’t have them blabbing under pressure. Once the Ministry is here, Blaise Zabini will panic because of all that stuff with his mum. Pansy will tell all her friends how proud she is of me.”

“Draco. No. You should have been more careful in the first place. Memory Charms take a very delicate hand. Remember what happened to Lockhart? I could end up on trial first if I use this against classmates. Now, that would be a shame. You always like being _first_.”

“Theodore, I’m not going to ask you politely again,” Draco said. “I trusted you with this because I already know I can’t do it safely. I only need memories of me being a you-know-what erased. Nothing else. A small job, Theodore. A careful spell.”

Theodore’s messy hair shook out of time with the motion of his head. He had a slew of objections.

“What about Crabbe and Goyle? If I use a Memory Charm on them, they’ll become infantile.”

“I still need them anyway. You don’t have to mess with them.”

“What if Parkinson already told her friends?”

“She didn’t. It’s driving her mad, but she didn’t. She’s too afraid I’ll be even angrier.”

“Ah, well, I bet you didn’t consider this. If Pansy forgets about that pretty little cattle brand you have, then she’s not going to remember why you two split.”

“I didn’t say to get rid of her memory of our breakup. She knows it was because she’s obsessed with criminals.”

“What if I Obliviate more than intended?” Theodore asked, not as miffed anymore.

“You know the False Memory spell, right? So, put some replacements in there so that they can function.”

“It doesn’t work that way. They would have fixed up Lockhart if it did.”

“Then your option is to not bugger it up in the first place.”

“I never said I would do this.”

“I never said I wouldn’t Imperius you,” Draco hissed in his desperation and impatience.

Theodore looked profoundly hurt. He stopped walking and clenched his jaw, and finally gave up trying to keep his hair out of his eyes. Were his eyes red? Draco relented.

“I can’t help you pull off a Memory Charm through that curse, Theodore –– you know that. You need to be fully about your senses. We both know that. I’m not going to Imperius you.”

“This is how you leashed Crabbe and Goyle, then, eh? With threats? All the way back to first year?” Theodore growled. “Threaten me _one more time_ , Draco.”

“I’m not, all right? I’m not. I’m running out of options, and I trust you. I don’t trust myself to do it. I want them ignorant, not permanently damaged!”

“You don’t prefer me to be blessed with such ignorance.”

“It wouldn’t be safe for you to suddenly not know what’s going on, now, would it? Do what you want. I’ll figure something out. Forget I asked you.”

Draco did not have any time to read up on Memory Charms. There were experienced wizards who could not cast them. Yet he could not trust Blaise and Pansy at this fragile point in the mission and remained at a loss of what to do. Theodore hopped back to him, his mop-top bouncing once more.

“I’ll do it,” he said. “Because I know how, and _you_ ’ _ll_ try something stupid.”

“I likely will,” said Draco dismally.

“You have to help me, though.”

“Lead on.”

They found Blaise sitting in the Middle Courtyard, but he wasn’t anywhere near the middle of the grass. He was in the shade by the wall of the caste, sharing his prized and pretentious cigar stash with Xander Lofthouse and Max Manson, keeping an eye out for teachers. It was awfully crowded in the courtyard, though not near their smoke.

“The Squib’s spotted you lot smoking. He’s on his way,” Theodore said.

“Piss,” said Max Manson, and Draco swore he looked ready to eat the cigar to hide it from Argus Filch.

The other two were much more casual, burning them out slowly on the brick wall. Blaise’s eyes were shifty and he decided to walk off the scene. That was when Theodore and Draco followed him. Blaise couldn’t suspect anything whilst they were still in view of other students, so Draco tried to strike a conversation.

“I could use one of those, to be honest.”

“I don’t share my Panetelas with blood-traitors, Malfoy,” Zabini spat.

“ _Silencio_ ,” Theodore said suddenly, and before Zabini could fight, Draco Immobilised him.

They drug him off to the nearest empty room and lay him flat on the floor.

“Alright, Draco, I need you to step aside and be quiet. Watch for interlopers. Nothing more. I’m removing his knowledge of your whole job, yes?”

Zabini’s eyes were as wide as Theodore’s were narrow. His facial expression was that of absolute struggle, but he wasn’t moving any time soon.

“Yes. And get rid of that ‘blood-traitor’ rubbish, too.”

“Are we talking, ‘unweave the very fabric of his prejudice’ or ‘make him stop thinking I’m a blood-traitor because it hurts my feelings…?’” Theodore crowed.

“The second one you arsehole!”

Theodore rolled his wand between his palms nervously, like he was trying to mould clay.

“Blaise, I suggest you think as hard as you can about Draco’s mission or else I might lob something else straight out your head.”

Zabini contorted all the muscles of his face.

“ _Obliviate_ ,” said Theodore gently.

Zabini’s expression softened considerably, and Draco and Theodore quickly lifted him up and countered the jinxes they had placed on him before he came to his senses.

“What on earth…?” he grumbled.

“ _Shh_ , Filch, remember?” Theodore said seamlessly. “He’s tailed us.”

“Oh, right,” Zabini said.

They waited a few moments, then Draco used his acting skills to pretend to search for Filch.

“It’s clear.”

“Good,” said Zabini, and they all walked back to the common room without any sign of an accident on Theodore’s part.

Draco had to wait out Theodore’s Arithmancy class, but after that, they searched for Pansy. Draco was not looking forward to this confrontation. She would make a scene if he attempted to get her alone. Incredibly enough, they couldn’t find her in any of her usual spots, so Draco had more time to think of what to say.

“You don’t suppose she’s in the library, do you?” Theodore asked.

“The library? Pansy?”

“It’s either that or she’s in her dormitory, and we’ll never get to her.”

“Might be worth a try… Finals are coming up.”

The sight of Pansy in the library was hilarious. She must have come there right after D.A.D.A., and was studying out of fear of Snape. Luckily, nobody was sitting with her. Pansy’s distractibility was at an all-time high; the second she saw Draco, she changed her demeanour. It was actually a bit sad. Theodore went first. Draco didn’t know how he would ever thank him.

“We need to talk to you about the mission,” lied Theodore.

“Me? Really, Draco? Oh… Certainly…” Pansy said, closing her book quickly. “I’m glad you showed up… If I had to listen to that Mudblood’s scribbling for another moment, I’d––”

“You’d find another table,” Theodore hushed Pansy, his eyes widening stupidly at the sight of Granger. “Let’s go already.”

There were no private spots near the library, so they had to take Pansy for a walk. She was already full of questions, which fortified Draco’s decision about the Memory Charm. It was amazing that her enthusiasm had been contained for so long in the first place. Draco ignored all of her questions but made sure to ask her who all she told.

“I didn’t tell a soul, Draco,” Pansy cooed. “I’m not stupid. I know how important your mission is.”

“Good.”

Pansy looked so happy that she might have just offed Dumbledore herself.

“No sign of Filch,” said Theodore, but regrettably, he led them out to the Clock Tower courtyard.

This was a famous dating spot. Draco and Pansy had only made it up there a few times during their relationship. Braving the weather was often a necessity to get the area private; other couples always seemed to get there first on nice days. The issue was averted with Astoria, who was not opposed to walking outside on the stormiest of days and using Atmospheric charms to split the storms’ paths and clear the courtyard. Nobody disturbed Draco and her out of fear of the storms, which would rage on loudly beyond their spot. Astoria liked the aesthetics of it. She wouldn’t let him clear the weather, though, because she said he might get in trouble. She failed to realise that she wasn’t immune to getting caught.

“Hello? Do I have to do everything myself?” Theodore said as Draco was reminiscing about a certain spot behind the fountain.

“Oh. Pansy. Sit down,” he said, and she did.

“ _Immobulus_.”

He caught her and leaned her against a tree.

“ _Obliviate_ ,” said Theodore less cautiously than he had done with Blaise.

“You only Obliviated what I asked, right?”

“Er, yeah,” Theodore chirruped.

Draco led Pansy quickly out of the courtyard before she gathered any new ideas about their being there. They could not possibly make it all the way back to the library before she came out of her daze, so Draco had to think of some explanation for why he was there with her. Or maybe he didn’t.

“She has her books. Put her book in her hand.”

Theodore obeyed. Draco started to walk away.

“She’ll be fine, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, but I think I’ll go to the library anyway. I’ll make sure Pansy still functions. See you later,” Theodore called.

“Hey, Theodore –– thanks.”

“Yeah.”

The feeling of relief was a luxury. Draco made sure to tell Crabbe and Goyle to never mention the Death Eater subject again to the others. The pair took the increased secrecy as a sign of their own importance, so it all worked out quite well. But Blaise and Pansy would know what he was again one day. Everyone would.

~

Draco had been sending a few of his choice possessions home. It would be too obvious to send home everything, and in times like these, any larger packages were sure to draw the attention of the Ministry one way or another. He had some difficulty coming to terms with leaving so many of his things at Hogwarts when he would be forced to flee it soon, since everything he owned was nice. One of his new favourite possessions, and one he could not imagine leaving in a place like Hogwarts any longer than necessary, was the gift Astoria had got him for his seventeenth birthday. It was a Golden Snitch that had been commissioned by the French National Team in 1879 for a fresh start upon the Seeker’s retirement. Astoria had asked her Grandfather Ciel to send it from France, simply saying that it would make the perfect gift for somebody special, and at first, Draco wondered why the old man was willing to be rid of it. The Snitch was engraved with the initials S.C. and encased in heavily charmed glass. It just so happened that Astoria’s great-great-great-grandfather, Satordi, had only forged one “bad” Snitch in his career.

“Shake it,” she said.

The Snitch seemed to warp, and it turned in on itself with the most haunting clanging that somehow rang through the glass. It was no longer recognisably golden, but was reflecting everything round it like a dozen tiny mirrors. It flew about as normal Snitches do and hit the glass several times, but each time it impacted, it warped again until it finally resumed its normal state. Draco pondered how much noise it must have made in the post.

“The team opened up the box he sent it in and deemed it cursed,” Astoria said, and Draco’s heart began to beat at the thought of its uniqueness. “What really happened, though, was that their new Seeker attempted to weight it. Grandfather Satordi equipped all of his Snitches with anti-cheating spells that would render them unusable if tampered with. People did not have anything better to do than make a scandal of it at the time, saying Satordi was an assassin… It took him more than fifteen years to repair his reputation even though he had done nothing wrong. It was the Seeker’s fault.”

“So it’s not cursed?”

“Why would I ever give you something cursed?” Astoria said.

“I wouldn’t mind, so long as it didn’t curse _me_. But this is also fantastic. Thank you for sending for it. I always like things that come with a story,” he said, and kissed her on the cheek.

Somewhere between saying “I need to study” and “Snape wants me for something,” Draco had to make more time for her. Well, he did not _have to_ –– he could have done the smart and respectable thing, but he enjoyed being with her too much. That was why, even though the Vanishing Cabinet was at last starting to heal from its damage, Draco stole her away from studying for her O.W.L.s. His own final examinations, he knew, were off the point. His life was about to change drastically yet again, and he doubted he would ever be back in school. He might be the Dark Lord’s new favourite Death Eater come month’s end. He could finally get control of his life again. His family would be out of danger and in power. Yes, the Malfoy family had good things coming, Draco thought yet again. He was going to be a great Dark wizard.

Astoria was fully aware that their time was running short, although she thought it was because of the Lestranges threatening him, and her family needing to move. He let her think that. He let her think whatever she wanted to think because he had mere days left with her in his life. Her O.W.L.s would begin, and he would kill Albus Dumbledore.

Astoria did not know that this could be the last of it on that early summer’s day. She loved the warm weather, and all she wanted to do was go outside. Draco was more than content to be led across the grounds. She had on a gingham sundress. She was going to get cold in that once evening fell, but they had time before then, too.

Draco still felt the roots of their relationship in the tips of her fingers. It had been over three years since they met. He was so glad his parents had made him soft-soap the Greengrasses back then, even though they were blood-traitors. Life had been very different before his father was arrested. Keeping the Malfoy name eminent involved doing the opposite of what it meant now. Though, Astoria had never fallen for that approach, and her rejection of anything less than honesty had caught his attention. He had stopped trying to look good for her and started trying to _be_ good for her.

 _We had a good run_ , he thought.

Astoria removed her shoes at the edge of the smoothest plane of the lake’s shore. It wasn’t the sandy beach he preferred to take her to; it was pebbly and brown. For some reason, she held the corners of her dress as she stepped along the shoreline. It was an endearing force of habit; that dress wasn’t nearly long enough to get dirty from her walking there. Draco followed her, aware of all the reasons he’d never tried this before. Unimaginable creatures lived in that lake; sometimes they would swim by the window of the common room and startle those sitting closest. Astoria kicked her feet in the water. Draco found a good skipping stone. He would never have guessed that he was a soon-to-be murderer if he was seeing this from an outsider’s perspective.

Outsiders did arrive at the crest of the hill’s path to the lake. This was always Astoria’s favourite part –– the escape. Where other girls would have been affronted, or at least saddened, to have their relationship hidden, Astoria agreed that it was for the best, and at times, delighted in the adventure. She had as much fun running from others’ view in the nick of time as somebody else would enjoy winning a Quidditch match. She grabbed her shoes and ran barefoot along the path, way ahead of Draco. He sat on the shore and casually tied his shoes, keeping an eye on her. With her shoes back on and a careful glace at the approaching group, she conjured a book.

_Pretending to read, Astoria?_

She always liked to mix it up. The acts she put on were easier than coming up with the hundreds of explanations she would need for spending so much time with Draco. He watched her clumsily climb a low tree with a large branch that swung over the edge of the lake. He went round the long way, noting the number of people enjoying the good weather. Her role was to read her empty, conjured book, and she played it well for another group of students from her year. Draco finally got the chance to sneak up behind her. Astoria smiled down at him and hurled the conjured book over the water; it vanished in thin air just as it had been created. Helping her down from that tree resulted in Draco getting more action than he had bargained for. He knew that she was crafty and liked to think she had planned it that way. Two more relocations from the eyes of other students, and they both reclined against the cliff’s cold surface.

“I was thinking about how I was home-schooled yesterday,” Astoria said.

She was balancing her wand on the tip of her finger and watching it teeter in the breeze.

“Your parents thought Hogwarts would destroy you, I recall.”

“It did,” Astoria said, and her eyes lost the sunshine for a moment. “They also thought _I_ would destroy Hogwarts once they started letting me use magic. You see, everything I learn I have to learn from reading, because nobody ever wanted me to do anything. They took a few examples of me messing up as a child and held it against me. Do you remember when you got your Hogwarts acceptance letter?”

Draco recalled it as one of the most exciting days of his childhood, though he had had to pretend not to be _too_ excited about it, since his parents looked down on the school.

“My parents hid my letter and told me I didn’t have the ‘right kind of magic’ to go,” Astoria said. “They acted like I never got the letter at all, and they home-schooled me.”

“Really?” said Draco, leaning forward. “That’s ridiculous! You would think that if you blew things up…”

“Well, _I_ didn’t blow things up. The spells blew up! They failed! I showed magic very late for a child. They thought I was a Squib, and they had my cousin talk to me about what it’s like to not have the same magic as our siblings, things like that. Well, once I finally started showing it, it was always out of control. Daphne –– the most exciting thing _she_ did was conjure snowflakes for Grandmother –– she was allowed to go. _I_ would have been an _embarrassment_ to the Greengrass name. _I_ was too much a wild card.”

“Astoria, listen,” Draco said. “It doesn’t matter now. Whatever problem happened when you were little was reversed when you were advanced a year.”

“That was for academics, not magic,” Astoria said.

He could tell that she had needed somebody to talk to about this when she first found out and he hadn’t been available.

“I know you must hate it, but I’m glad for it,” he said honestly. “I’m glad you weren’t there your first year. We had dementors and hippogriffs and Sirius Black that year. And because you weren’t there, you worked so hard that you did the equivalent work –– _yes_ , yes you did –– to become a third-year. I shouldn’t need to mention Astronomy. If nothing else, I’ve had more time with you this way.”

“I have liked that.”

“If you really are a Squib, you’re very good at Kwikspells,” Draco laughed.

“Hmph! The truth comes out!” Astoria said, twirling her wand like she was a majorette.

“Non, vous êtes une belle sorcière,” Draco said in his lamentable accent, but she ate it up anyway and started speaking all sorts of French he didn’t understand.

“What are you saying, Astoria? Dirty things, I’m sure.”

“Where did you lose me?”

“I almost don’t want to repeat what I thought I heard. You’re very different when I’m the only one watching,” he taunted.

“The same is true of you.”

The fresh tenderness of her words at last stirred Draco out of his calm. Astoria was better at Legilimency, but she would never be able to get through him. He had a horrifying, intrusive urge to let down his mental guard and let her tear all through him. He _was_ different when only she was watching. He wasn’t a Death Eater at all.

 _Astoria, please pay attention_. _Pay attention_.

She snuggled closer and looked up at him.

 _You need to forget me_.

“I’ll miss this,” she said quietly.

 _I’m a murderer_. _Get out of here_. _Save yourself_.

“Not to be grim again, but I want you to do whatever you can to stay safe in this war, Draco. I won’t be here. You won’t have to worry about me. I know your family is involved, so please,” she struggled for better phrases, “be safe.”

How could she barely be missing what he was thinking? Her responses were staggering him. Astoria was hearing his song but not the words in it. That was why she did not flee, but idly hummed a different tune entirely on their walk back. Draco was fairly certain he had danced to it with her when there had been no music at all. Yet maybe that elusive vernal melody was only what he wanted to hear. Astoria could have been humming anything in the world, and he would have heard love. Even as he prepared to bring Death Eaters to the very grounds they now walked, he could not let her go and spare her the pain.

“Draco, look, the sunset’s gorgeous,” she announced happily, smiling at him.

 _I am a monster_.


	25. Fear of the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my playlist is [located here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy)
> 
> Chapter 25 - "Mouthful of Cavities" by Blind Melon

Astoria, Rhiannon, Flora, and Hestia lived in room number 106: a small, architectural oddity wedged into the first curve in the hallway of the Slytherin girls’ dormitories. It was never hard to hear noise coming from the common room, but rarely was it so loud this late at night. Astoria put on her dressing gown and grabbed her wand; the noise seemed to oblige that. Flora was already awake, but she had been waiting to see if the commotion would disturb the others. Astoria looked at her shoes. Somehow, it didn’t sound like slippers would be enough.

Down the hallway ran Abigail Pugh, the seventh-year Prefect. Abigail had her wand fully drawn before her. Astoria did the same. She did not know why. She did not know why she ended up as the leader on this walk down the hall. Usually, Flora was first in their group. Flora was strong. Rhiannon had her nose in the Foe-Shard, frantically talking to Hestia about the figures they saw inside. Hestia kept saying “ _Alecto and_ _Amycus_.” Those were not the only names she said.

Astoria was not very tall, so it only took a handful of seventh-year boys to obstruct her view of whatever everyone was facing. They appeared to be looking toward the common room exit. Perhaps they were all trapped. Hestia’s claustrophobia swelled; she was sweaty and breathing loud. Flora instructed Rhiannon with gestures to get Hestia as close to the wall away from the crowd as she could. Flora stayed with Astoria. Nobody’s words made any sense because everyone was shouting at once. Astoria found her sister and Tracey Davis by the underwater window and contemplated that the throngs really did mean that they were all trapped. Slytherin and Hufflepuff were both below ground.

“Daphne!” Astoria said, touching her sister’s arm.

“It’s Theodore!” Daphne said, and she pointed into the crowd in vain.

Theodore was not visible.

“Theodore what‽” Flora asked.

“He’s locked us in!” Tracey informed.

“Why‽”

Astoria knew deep down that whatever was wrong, she was going to have to be the one to talk to Theodore. Daphne strained her voice shouting over the panicked crowd.

“Sadie, Sourav, and Mildred were cramming for their N.E.W.T.s when they heard all this chaos coming from the hallway! Something about Snape! Something about Death Eaters in the castle! Gryffindors were out there, I think! I’m not sure!” Daphne exclaimed.

“Death Eaters‽”

“In the castle!” said Tracey.

“That must be why Theodore’s locked us in!” Astoria concluded.

“Well, he’s not being very explanatory!” Daphne shouted. “He knocked out Xander Lofthouse cold when he tried to get out of the common room… if you look past Millicent, you can see him lying against the wall!”

“Has Draco talked to Theodore‽” Astoria asked.

“I haven’t seen Draco!” Tracey said.

If Theodore was the one holding them inside, then Theodore was the one with the answers. Astoria had little experience with being so rough except when she practised duelling with her roommates. Still, she pushed her way through that uselessly shuffling crowd with only her elbow, wand still drawn, whilst Flora held her left hand to stick together. Astoria’s mental map of the room no longer helped her with everyone in it; she walked right into a desk and stubbed her toe hard. A Numbing Spell… she knew a Numbing Spell from a book… She made room so that she could kneel down. She overheard something.

“I didn’t think he’d do it tonight. Bring them in.”

“I never know with Malfoy. Does what he wants.”

 _Malfoy_?

It was Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, leaning on the desk she had hit with their backs to Astoria. She noticed how calm they were compared to the rest of the students. Goyle was picking a scab on his arm like nothing was happening.

Astoria crawled carefully onto the table and stood up to see. Nobody else must have tried this yet, because her action drew a lot of attention. She did not look at the sea of eyes beneath her save for Flora’s. She spotted Theodore. He was shrouded in an eerie black Shield Charm Astoria had not seen before. His wide stance and the magic encircling him made him much larger than himself. Theodore looked at her because she was standing on the table. He was not much concerned with the Reductor Curses being blast against his shield. Some people were casting those thoughtlessly merely because he did have a shield. Others looked like they had a purpose. But nobody needed to be leaving that common room if there were Death Eaters about.

“I wonder how long it will take him,” said Goyle.

“It’s Malfoy. Give ’im another year,” said Crabbe.

They had glanced at Astoria and were aware that she was standing behind them, but they did not move their rumps from the table.

“Lucius Malfoy?” Astoria asked.

She thought she had it all figured out in her head. Voldemort had released the rest of the Death Eaters from Azkaban and had ordered Lucius Malfoy to come here, to bring Death Eaters, and to attack Harry Potter. Had he called upon Draco –– that was what she needed to know. Had Lucius Malfoy brought forth his son?

Crabbe turned sideways, his face contorted.

“Lucius? No, you Mudwallower, Draco Malfoy.”

 _No_.

“ _Draco_? What do you mean Draco? Draco _what_?”

Goyle had started to laugh. Crabbe’s face was hard. It was so rare that Astoria heard him talk, and the more that he did, the more she hated him.

“‘ _Draco what_?’” he mocked. “Guess he never told his new bitch anything.”

“CRABBE!” Astoria screamed, for oddly nobody else mattered in that room. “TELL ME WHAT IS HAPPENING!”

“I don’t gotta tell you nothing!”

Before she could fully process what he had said about Draco in the first place, and before she could mull over any other possible course of action, Astoria drove her left elbow down onto his greasy, buzzed head and pulled him backwards with all her might, flat onto the table. Crabbe drew his wand, and she Disarmed it effortlessly. It might have been a toy.

“Astoria!” Flora said from somewhere.

“ _Legilimens_!” Astoria screamed with her wand between Crabbe’s eyes.

Crabbe’s mind was full of hatred. It contained no pleasing pathways or interesting turns like Professor Sinistra’s. There were no secrets like in Gwendela Bagshot’s book. It was all plain in there. Plain and violent. Astoria didn’t need everything. She knew that she could get what she wanted out of him. He had no Occlumency, so he began to physically fight her, grabbing her legs. Astoria should have prepared for this. She circled around him, keeping her eyes on him. He weakened under her spell. When he reached instinctively to try to catch her again, she stepped on his hands.

“Astoria, stop!”

“That’s Astoria Greengrass!”

“Greengrass?”

“Astoria, get down!”

It didn’t matter what they said because no one forcibly stopped her. Nobody’s care for Crabbe outweighed their interest in watching her do this. She had to seize what she wanted. It would only take a matter of moments in his thoughts.

> _Malfoy’s always needing help for his Death Eater mission. Sicko keeps making me and Greg transfigure into girls with Polyjuice. ‘Guard me, watch the corridors,’ he says. I’m tired of being bossed round by this toff. Dark Lord’s not gonna favour him anyway. He’s a Malfoy. Malfoy was in charge of the Department of Mysteries and ruined it. My dad just followed his lead. I’m tired of us following these ruddy Malfoys. I’ll help for now, but I’m gonna make a name for myself one day soon._
> 
> **_Get out of my head you slut!_ **
> 
> _I have no idea what Malfoy’s doing tonight letting in Death Eaters. He must have been too weak to do the job himself. I wonder what they’re going to do. Maybe he’s been ordered to kill Harry Potter. Maybe that’s what the Sectumsempra business boils down to. What made the Dark Lord think Malfoy had it in him to kill somebody?_ _Malfoy’s all bark and no bite. That’s why he’s used us all these years_.

Astoria finally crawled down from the table. Crabbe was rubbing his blue hands. She Disarmed Goyle to be on the safe side after seeing his attempts to stop her. She didn’t want the wand, and handed it off to the aghast prefect, Horatio Pershore, who was not inclined to give Crabbe his wand back, either. Her spells must have set off the violent streak in some of the fourth-year boys. A fight was breaking out. Yet she noticed that everyone shuffled to get out of her way now. No one ran to her now. She looked back at the table, and indeed the path was still cleared behind her as well as forward. Flora stood there in surprise, but she would soon run off and look for her sister.

“That’s Astoria Greengrass,” said a first-year she didn’t know.

“ _Greengrass_?” said the child’s friend.

They thought they knew who she was by her last name again. She walked straight to Theodore, whose shield was still holding up against the attacks of Kestrel Gibbon, Hunter Mulciber, Fiona Rookwood, and Pansy Parkinson. All of them except Parkinson had Death Eaters in the family. All of them stared at Astoria when she approached Theodore. Her arrival reminded them of the girl they called Slytherin’s Blot. Mulciber spun round, smiling wickedly at the chance to finally attack Rhiannon due to the chaos. Astoria anticipated this.

“ _Nocnitsa_ ,” she said, and Mulciber slid to the floor, face up and unconscious.

That was the very hex that Parkinson had used nonverbally on her months before to give her those terrible nightmares about Rabastan Lestrange killing everyone. After a long search in the books Flora rented from the library’s restricted section, Astoria had found it. It was perfect time to use it now, with Parkinson watching. Having seen their ally fall, Gibbon, Rookwood, and Parkinson all returned to their assault on Theodore’s shield and pretended not to notice Astoria. They had other goals. Astoria’s own goal was not common to theirs apart from first getting through this shield. After that, she did not know what she would do.

Theodore’s wand hand was not shaking, but his other hand was. He had something small clutched in it. He was not responding to any of the things the students shouted whilst they tried to break his barrier. His light eyes seemed very dark in the shadow of the monstrous shield.

“Theodore!” Astoria yelled.

She had to get to Draco. She had to bring him down before it was too late and he was lost to her. This was somehow his father’s fault. Somehow, this was not Draco’s idea.

“Don’t even think about it, Astoria!”

Heads turned. It was the first answer Theodore had given since he had set up his barricade. Again, she heard people say it. _Astoria Greengrass_. The girl making the most commotion.

“I NEED THROUGH NOW!” she yelled.

“YOU’LL DIE!”

“WHERE IS HE?”

She was certain Parkinson had already asked, but it was all she could think about.

“WHERE IS HE, THEODORE?”

“ASTORIA, NOBODY IS LEAVING THIS ROOM UNTIL I GET THE SIGNAL!” Theodore shouted at her, shaking his fist to the side.

Astoria understood. They were in contact somehow, Theodore and Draco. Theodore was trapping them in here on Draco’s orders. No one would leave the common room until the Death Eaters were gone. No relatives of the Death Eaters were allowed to join the fight… nor was anyone on the side of good. That was why Xander Lofthouse remained Stupefied against the wall and why Astoria was not permitted through. Theodore’s shield encompassed him, the door, and the fireplace in a half circle. It glimmered black, constantly in motion, like a celestial globe being spun. Astoria could not hope to break what several other students hadn’t been able to. Her friends would not come to her. The twins knew to keep Rhiannon away from the people assaulting the shield. Astoria thought of her cousins high up in the castle’s towers. Death Eaters did not take kindly to Gryffindors or to the children of Squibs. She sat on the step, dazed.

The sound of a coin dropping behind her seemed, at first, immaterial to her shock.

“Prat… you prat… thank heavens…”

It was Theodore again. He released the shield. Suddenly, the throng ran forward, having been caged and afraid. Astoria had to stand up. She would be trampled otherwise. Even though everyone was moving forward out of the common room, it felt like bodies were colliding with her from every possible angle. A clammy hand grabbed her wrist, then wrapped firmly in her palm.

“I’ll explain what I can,” said Theodore.

“Let’s go,” she said.

Theodore and Astoria ran alongside of the crowd, but it did not get them there any faster. When the Slytherins poured out onto the grounds, students from other Houses took note of the delay in their arrival. Slytherin could not do anything right tonight.

“They must have fought here… the Ministry. They have a few people here already.”

Astoria’s eyes adjusted quickly, for the night was not much different from the dungeons. A heavy scent of smoke hung in the air. Ministry workers were encircling a body at the foot of a little knoll. A much larger crowd had gathered beneath Astronomy Tower.

“Draco said ‘don’t let anyone out of the common room until we’re gone,’” Theodore said breathlessly. “He signalled me with a Protean Charm. That means he got away.”

“He got away,” echoed Astoria, not knowing whether that was good or bad or safe.

“Draco…” panted Theodore, pulling Astoria behind the stairs they had just descended. “Draco had to become a Death Eater in his father’s place. Lucius… the Department of Mysteries… I don’t have to become a Death Eater yet. My dad wasn’t in charge of that mission. Lucius was. Draco…”

“Draco’s a Death Eater,” echoed Astoria again.

“Yes, the Dark Lord gave him orders… a suicide mission, but he pulled it off in the end… he got away. The Dark Lord said… kill Dumbledore… recompense…”

“What? Theodore, you are starting to panic,” Astoria said, squeezing his hand.

They could not falter at the same time. They could not falter at the sound of others students’ crying ringing across the grounds. The Headmaster was dead. Had their dear friend really killed him? Or was it one of the people Draco had brought in?

“That’s why he went missing all year… to use the Vanishing Cabinet. It let the Death Eaters in. He said four others, but it looks like more were here.”

“Four others? Death Eaters?”

“Four other Death Eaters, but obviously more w-were here uninvited.”

“It’s okay, Theodore,” said Astoria meaninglessly; her insides were knotted in pain.

“I think he’s okay. I think he did it, so the Dark Lord won’t kill his family after all! I’m still moving in with the Goyles. B-But I don’t think he’ll kill Draco. I think Draco’s pulled it off with the others.”

“That’s who was going to kill Draco? The Dark Lord himself?” Astoria asked, for that was palpably worse than the Lestranges. “ _Draco was forced to murder someone_?”

“Y-Yeah, it was bad. It was all bad. But I think Draco’s surprised the Dark Lord with this,” Theodore said. “It was a suicide mission, but he’ll be okay.”

“Dumbledore,” Astoria’s voice broke.

“Yeah, Dumbledore…” he said, the relief disappearing. “Yeah… he had to do it. That’s who the Dark Lord picked. Potter has to be the Dark Lord’s, apparently. The idea was to have Draco die by Dumbledore.”

“What about you?” Astoria asked wildly, for Theodore was the one in front of her –– not Draco, not Rhiannon, not Flora and Hestia.

“About me?”

“Will you have to become a Death Eater, too?” she asked, and her eyes stung tardily.

 _Control your emotions_. _Gather information. Like Occlumency_. _You’ve been doing it all evening_ , she thought.

“I don’t know…” Theodore said hoarsely, scanning the grounds again. “I don’t know… I couldn’t figure out how to do something like this… not even to save my dad…”

“Maybe you won’t have to,” she said.

 _Nothing you’re saying is making sense._ _Find your family and friends._ _Find your teachers. Pray. Go home. Dumbledore’s dead. Dumbledore’s dead. Oh, Draco, how could this happen?_

“Maybe I won’t,” Theodore repeated.

The airborne Dark Mark glinted over Astronomy Tower with such derision at the mourners below. It made sense, Astronomy Tower. Perhaps Draco had resorted to pushing the poor old man off the edge, reasonably unable to match the old man’s magic. _How could this happen?_

Astoria did not want to see the sickening colour of the Dark Mark. It was a symbol of bloodshed. The thought occurred to her that all she had to offer to anyone that night was to remove the debauched thing from the sky. An Atmospheric spell might at least let gentle moonlight shine down on the fallen’s body. She was too far away from the Dark Mark, though, and there was hardly a chance that its substance held anything in common with the troposphere. Still, she wished she could remove the travesty that Draco had had to cast above them as part of some sick business protocol.

“Astronomy Tower… Professor Sinistra!” Astoria jumped, bumping Theodore.

“Sinistra,” Theodore gasped in turn. “She could be anywhere. She could have Disapparated with them. They might have forced her to come… And Snape… All old connections! Just like Dad was summoned to the rebirth of the Dark Lord!”

“No!” Astoria shouted.

She could not have her favourite teacher enslaved the way Draco was. It had not happened. Her teachers were both still here. Professor Snape hadn’t come to the common room because he might have been trying to catch Draco… Professor Sinistra, she must have put up a good fight in Astronomy Tower… That was in their character. That was the kind of people they were.

“Professor!” she yelled across the grounds.

She and Theodore ran clumsily hand in hand because they could not bear the thought of somehow losing each other. The Death Eaters could regroup and come back, could they not? And who was to defend Hogwarts if not Dumbledore?

 _Dumbledore really died_ … _Draco really_ …

“Professor!”

Astoria did not know which of the two teachers she was yelling for, but she did know that she was the only one yelling. The crowd of students were quiet in speech but louder in cries. The Ministry workers talked quietly amongst themselves, already reviewing how this event would look on Scrimgeour’s term.

“I’m here, Astoria. I’m right here.”

How Professor Sinistra managed to be at this place at this time did not matter. Astoria tried to balance Theodore’s hand, her own wand, and Professor Sinistra’s embrace all at once and failed miserably. She lay her face on Professor Sinistra’s fluffy dressing gown. For a moment, everything was all right.

“Who’s all dead?” Theodore asked up front.

Professor Sinistra spoke with gentle composure, but as she turned her head to face Theodore, something warm and wet dripped into Astoria’s hair.

“That I know of, our Professor Dumbledore. There are several amongst the injured.”

The professor said this as though she was not one of them. However, the blood and tears from her face slowly dripped.

“I believe Tilton Gibbon was here with the Death Eater party and has died. The Ministry’s taking him.”

That must have been who Kestrel Gibbon was trying to get to from the common room. Astoria wanted her family. How soon could she see her parents and grandparents?

“Who all was here?” Theodore asked, and Professor Sinistra knew exactly what he meant.

“Besides Gibbon, there was Corban Yaxley, Thorfinn Rowle, Fenrir Greyback, and Amycus and Alecto Carrow.”

Flora and Hestia must have walked out with Rhiannon. Astoria could not see them. She _needed_ to see them. She needed them all here to conduct a head count.

“Professor Snape,” said Theodore.

It was not a question.

“Yes,” answered Professor Sinistra. “But as you see, he does not tell me everything.”

“Where is Professor Snape?” Astoria asked, peeking over the witch’s shoulder. Usually he and Sinistra responded to Slytherin crises together.

“No, no, dear,” hushed Professor Sinistra, patting her back.

“‘No’ what? Where is he?” Astoria uttered, but she was interrupted by the most welcome face of all.

Rhiannon had her wand lit with a red tint, the colour Astoria always lit hers for the sake of stargazing, even when she was indoors. It might have been for the fallen Gryffindor. Rhiannon’s eyes were wet, but she had herself under control. She did not look angry with Astoria. Flora and Hestia stood close behind her, terrified.

“It’s a good thing we found you, Professor, ’cause we can’t find Snape nowhere, and nobody seems to be in the mood to listen to Slughorn right now. People are real panicked.”

“He will not be back at Hogwarts,” Professor Sinistra said, her hand still firm on Astoria’s back. “Minerva will choose Professor Slughorn as the new Head of Slytherin. Heaven knows I’ve ruined all my chances.”

“Not back at Hogwarts?” Rhiannon squeaked. “Where’d he go?”

“You-Know-Who took Professor Snape back?” Astoria asked frantically, having taken cues from Theodore.

“Yes, dear, he did,” Professor Sinistra murmured. “He took him back.”

Everyone shuffled. Astoria backed up.

“Professor Snape could never afford to tell me everything, but I do know that he saw to it that Draco Malfoy did not murder Albus Dumbledore. Somebody else in the party must have done it. Even still, I suggest to all of you that you simply agree with the popular consensus, even if it does not make sense. Do not talk about Professor Snape. Do not talk about Draco.”

_Draco didn’t kill Dumbledore… Draco didn’t kill Dumbledore…_

“Don’t talk about it?” Rhiannon said, starting to become belligerent.

“That is what I said,” Professor Sinistra answered, wiping her bloodied face like it was nothing more than a nuisance.

“You got hit, Professor,” Rhiannon finally noticed.

“I am fine –– the ceiling fell in on the first floor of the tower. Yaxley’s still up there,” she said offhandedly.

“ _Yaxley’s up there_?” Theodore exclaimed.

“But everyone’s outside!” Flora gasped in turn.

“We need––” Theodore started.

“To alert somebody, Theodore?” Professor Sinistra injected perfectly. “Albus Dumbledore is dead, and you think it is in our best interest to help the Ministry? I can assure you that Yaxley is out of commission for now, and that the Ministry will find him whether we alert them or not. Our smartest course of action is to let the events play out for themselves. What ever would Yaxley report to the _Dark Lord_ if Aurora Sinistra, Nott Jr, and the Carrows sold him needlessly?”

The twins gaped at each other. Theodore started rocking back and forth, almost imperceptibly. The gravity of the situation must have finally weighed upon Theodore for his Occlumency to break.

“Oh, that’s the phoenix what saved me,” Rhiannon said breathlessly, pointing to the sky. “Back when that basilisk...”

The fallen Headmaster’s phoenix sang a beautiful requiem over the grounds, and Rhiannon drew Hestia closer. Professor Sinistra swept her robe sideways to miss the mud puddles in the grass, and they all wordlessly followed her to where the crowd of people stood by the Headmaster’s very real dead body. They were certainly the last ones there and could not see a thing, but at least they would not stand out here. A touching tribute was underway for the great wizard, for most had lit their wands and raised them to the sky, right under the face of the Dark Mark. The brightness was comforting, although Astoria sensed that some people were convinced that it could remove the profane image from above Dumbledore. Perhaps it was not an atmospheric charm but _light_ that could take it down… She lit her wand as bright as it would shine with the rest of the crowd…

“ _Morkredd_ ,” Professor Sinistra said under her breath, twisting her left hand and balling it downward into a fist.

And Astoria realised that it was not the light from the crowd’s tribute nor their love of Albus Dumbledore that had removed the Dark Mark from the sky. It was Professor Sinistra’s quiet, esoteric incantation. She had performed the spell on cue with the crowd’s mourning so that the people might think they had had some small part in relieving the chaos, that their tribute somehow tangibly lessened the Dark Lord’s power. For once, Astoria would have done better to be ignorant. Light did not overpower the Dark here. It only raised morale, and that alone would not save them.


	26. Legilimency in Practice: Volume V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter comes with a musical rec, and my playlist is [located here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkbEwOpb9udL8NQSwPCtzW_HAw_KqsKFy)
> 
> Chapter 26 - "Too Far Away" by Gregory Alan Isakov
> 
> \--
> 
> I hope you enjoyed part 3! Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated. The next book in the series is available [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25753396/chapters/62541766)

“Well, _I_ think Draco’s a Death Eater,” Pansy Parkinson announced proudly. He’s the only one of us missing after the Death Eaters came. They must have been so impressed by him that they recruited him!”

Theodore stifled a chuckle. Astoria did not find it funny. Parkinson was obsessed with Draco’s “bad boy” role –– forget the fact that he had been ordered to kill at the threat of his family being massacred. Parkinson had no concept of the danger Draco was in, or if she did, it did not matter compared to his sexy new title.

Rhiannon only tried once to say “I told you so.” It had been an unwelcome, late-night conversation about Draco. About how maybe Draco was forced to be a Death Eater, but that didn’t mean he was unhappy about it. About how his consideration of keeping the Slytherin students in the common room did not outshine the act of bringing in Death Eaters in the first place. Astoria needed only to remind Rhiannon of how _profoundly touched_ she had been when Barty Crouch Jr had placed her under the Imperius Curse to keep her away from the last task of the Triwizard Tournament. That did not outshine the act literally resurrecting Voldemort, did it? No.

So Rhiannon didn’t talk about Draco anymore. Somewhere in the castle, Rhiannon had located Professor Lupin, and so Astoria did not see much of her for the next few days.

The verdict was that students could stay in Hogwarts until after Professor Dumbledore’s funeral. O.W.L.s were postponed until mid-July and would be held at the Ministry of Magic rather than the castle. Astoria and Daphne would have been amongst the very first students escorted away from Hogwarts by their parents after Dumbledore’s death if not for the fact that the Greengrasses had poured into the castle like they owned the place. They came for the funeral, yes, but Astoria despised the way they were also treating this as a social event. She knew that other, smaller families were having trouble finding lodging in Hogsmeade because of the sheer number of Greengrasses and their stupid inability to share quarters and sleep in bunks. Astoria’s own parents, grandparents, and a few of the people from her great-uncles’ branches of the family actually managed to score rooms in the castle itself due to their eminence. It was embarrassing, and when the other Slytherins saw so many Greengrasses about, it only increased the number of rumours about exactly what Astoria’s motives were when she had attacked Vincent Crabbe. Daphne never said a word about that, and Astoria made a point to thank her.

It was painful to try to say goodbye to everybody. Rumours of the schools’ closing spread all over, but whether Hogwarts remained open or not, Astoria would not be there. Although the Greengrasses did not act like it, they were soon-to-be evacuees. It took a lot of control to not prolong the goodbyes to Tracey and Montel Davis, who did not suspect that she was leaving more than just Hogwarts. Astoria, Rhiannon, Flora, and Hestia spent hours upon hours talking and avoiding the final goodbye. Ultimately, it came down to an endless stream of “miss yous” and empty hopes.

The students at Hogwarts were led out by House on the morning of the funeral. Professor Slughorn acted as the Head of House, and this continued to sink into Astoria’s conscious. She had meant to impress Professor Snape with her O.W.L.s. She had been working all this time to show him that she was finally a capable witch. She could impress Slughorn with her name alone.

Accommodating the mourners of Professor Dumbledore must have involved a great deal of conjuring. Apart from the seats placed for the students, there had to be at least three-hundred people already sitting by the lake where the Headmaster was to be laid to rest. Descending to the lake, the lake across which Draco had skipped stones not a week before, became very unpleasant for Astoria the closer she got to her seat. By the time she could recognise individual mourners by the backs of their heads, she was developing a headache. There was sorrow and fear and anger on all sides of her. There were myriads of fond memories of Albus Dumbledore, and the difference he had made in the world; the force of everyone’s reverence might have been enough to create a wake in the water. All twenty-six of the castle’s ghosts were there, and Astoria felt Myrtle’s presence and pain most of all, for the spirit had not been crying aloud, but containing it. Astoria asked if they might be able to sit near the edge of a row, for the middle was unthinkable. Hestia agreed first.

Flora’s face was stony as they sat down, but she was consumed with terror and remorse, and thoughts of her aunt and uncle would not escape her. Astoria felt like it was a rare moment that Flora would not flinch at touch, and reached for her hand. Flora’s shoulders fell, but Astoria’s migraine increased as she waited for the ceremony to begin, the sun beating down on her and making her dark robes feel stifling…

“Astoria, dear, come back here with me.”

Without thinking, for there was hardly any room in her head to think, Astoria followed Professor Sinistra to the very last row of chairs. It was more comfortable back there. Astoria was feeling herself again, fully able to focus on her own experience of being at the funeral of the Headmaster. Professor Sinistra equipped herself with a stack of conjured tissues. There were no other staff members back where they were, for they were all in the front. Astoria had realised that she had walked off without an explanation to her friends. Though it was not her friends who were so irked. Her father, having noticed some general disturbance in the area of her seating, came storming up to them. He was cut a dash in his most handsome mourning robes and had a band around his arm embedded with jet.

“Mrs–– Professor Sinistra,” said Astoria’s father. “What is the meaning of bringing my daughter to the back row? She was seated in a good spot by the aisle with the other Slytherins.”

Astoria stood back up instinctively to follow her father.

“Mr Greengrass, I apologise for worrying you, but I do believe Astoria would do better back here. It is a sad occasion and sensitive time, and your daughter is… a very sweet girl.”

These last words she said pointedly to Astoria’s father, with a little nod of her head. Astoria knew at once what her professor was doing. She was catering to the explanation Father wanted. A very sweet girl, yes. That was what he wanted to hear. She was too _sensitive_ to be in the absolute midst of the funeral.

“Oh, yes, I do say she is,” he answered, placing a hand on Astoria’s shoulder. And then, as though Astoria was not there, he said, “She has never handled funerals very well, so it is for the best. Thank you for looking out for my daughter. I apologise for the misunderstanding.”

“Of course, Mr Greengrass.”

Astoria received a kiss on the forehead from her father before he strolled back to his seat.

“Thanks, Professor,” she whispered.

“If he knew of your Legilimency, it would crush him. We have to shelter him from such horrid information,” Professor Sinistra smirked.

A dirge began, rising from the merpeople in the lake. It was very befitting somebody so great, and Astoria grew uncomfortable at the thought of that angry letter she had almost sent the Headmaster on account of the violence at Hogwarts. Here he lay in Professor Hagrid’s arms, a victim of violence himself.

There were a few occasions during the funeral when people were unduly shocked and let out screams. Professor Dumbledore’s tomb had been formed from flames, which had scared people, and the centaurs in the forest had paid tribute with an arrow salute. How rude it was to scream at a funeral, as though the reason they were there was not frightening enough. Astoria had an intrusive thought that it must have been people who had never been to a Wizarding funeral…

What would Dumbledore have to say about such a thought? What was she thinking?

As the ceremony came to a close, she wondered how her own thoughts had been affecting Professor Sinistra. It dawned on her that Professor Sinistra had not said anything along the lines of “I told you so” during any of their talks since the Headmaster’s murder. She was so accepting of Astoria’s dumb thoughts and loud concerns. She still accepted her with her faults and mistakes. Astoria wished that she had always given Professor Sinistra the same benefit of the doubt. She felt small and unimportant next to the great witch. She suddenly felt nothing short of evil next to Albus Dumbledore. She did not deserve to be there. If she was a better Legilimens, she could have saved him. She would have figured out Draco’s problems and told authorities.

“Shh, Astoria,” Professor Sinistra said even as the crowd became quite loud. “Nonsense. The same could be said of me. Occlumency has more potential than Legilimency. We try to know the answer to everything, but sometimes, things do not align that way. The Ministry can’t do anything, dear. Voldemort would come for you had you interfered. Don’t start thinking these things.”

She handed Astoria a few tissues.

“The train leaves in an hour. Are you going home by train?”

“No, Ma’am, I am going by the Floo network from Hogsmeade.”

Astoria watched her parents start mingling with a group of people from the Committee on Experimental Charms, where her father used to work.

“I expect we will not be leaving any time soon,” she added.

Professor Sinistra told Astoria to meet her in the large dungeon near the Potions classroom before she left for Hogsmeade. Astoria did not find her roommates to walk back to the dormitory together, but she did find Montel and Horatio and joined up with them. Horatio had recovered from witnessing Astoria’s attack on Vincent Crabbe, although he warned her that Crabbe had made such a horrible face that it was unlikely his grudge would ever ease. Astoria did not care about Crabbe or his grudges in the slightest; he and Goyle had been staying well away from her.

“I still can’t believe this happened,” Horatio said. “Dumbledore took down Gellert Grindelwald and now, just like that, a small group of Death Eaters cornered and killed him.”

“Well, Dumbledore was fifty years younger when he defeated him. I think it’s quite amazing he’s lived this long. The oldest person in my family died at one-hundred,” said Montel.

“I think my great-aunt’s one-hundred now,” said Horatio. “I guess you’re right. She probably wouldn’t win against a Death Eater.”

“Do you really think it was Snape?” Montel asked quietly, a sense of betrayal in his voice.

“That’s hard to say. If it’s true, I don’t think it’s what he wanted to do. But when You-Know-Who comes calling, you answer. Did you hear about those dementor attacks last month? I don’t think anybody would have a choice,” said Horatio hopelessly.

“Well, they do have a choice,” Montel argued. “It gets you killed, though… I hope nobody gets ideas about asking my family to help You-Know-Who. We won’t do it.”

“Nor will we,” Horatio said firmly.

“Nor will we,” Astoria added. “Although the seventh-years with family involved… their graduation makes me nervous after what happened to Draco. They actually seem enthusiastic to help You-Know-Who.”

Everyone went silent as they descended the staircase to the dungeons, thinking about how many familiar faces might become Death Eaters.

“I wonder what sort of letterhead you use for a Death Eater résumé,” said Montel, breaking the sullen mood at last. “You would think a nice Dark Mark would do at the top of the parchment, but that might come across as overconfident in human resources.”

“Much too overconfident. Best to go with the skull alone,” Horatio said.

The common room was crowded, with students hauling bags and saying tearful goodbyes. Manami Ichijō and Chiyo Akiyama were taking pictures of the common room to save as keepsakes; they were moving back to Japan before their transfer programme was completed after having an unacceptable experience here. The cousins rounded up as many of their classmates as they could, Astoria included. For the sake of the photograph, she had to stand and smile near Imogen Stretton, who violently hated Rhiannon.

Back in the dormitory, Hestia had finally broken down. Astoria hated to see her and Rhiannon having to separate; the girls had been so happy together. It reminded her of her own loss of Draco. At least these two got to say goodbye.

Rhiannon was by far the most souvenir-oriented of the four of them, and even though they all had many gifts from one another, she led a very frantic exchange of items to pay tribute to the friendship. Astoria ended up with a careworn book on jinxes from Flora in place of the jet headband in her hair. From Hestia, she received a jar of crafting beads in exchange for one of Astoria’s celestial maps. She loved her friends so much, and the thought of never seeing them again nearly crippled her.

Flora and Rhiannon sifted through their bags, and each took out a pair of socks at the same time. With a sad laugh, they traded. When Hestia gave Rhiannon her very own diary, Rhiannon pulled out the Foe-Shard from her pocket.

“I know this thing ain’t always the most helpful, since it doesn’t come with labels of who and where, but…”

Rhiannon cast a very light Shield Charm over the glass, then broke it roughly in half on the edge of the desk. She gave Hestia the larger piece, and at once, the shadowy figures in it changed to the outline of Amycus and Alecto.

“You look out for yourself,” Rhiannon croaked.

“I love you, Rhiannon.”

“I love you too.”

 _I never told Draco I loved him because I thought he’d laugh at me_ , Astoria thought, and she could no longer face her friends. _He really would laugh now._

 _…No. He wouldn’t_.

Astoria and Rhiannon saw the twins to the train. There was no telling what Amycus and Alecto would do now. They must have felt invincible after having been in the group that killed Albus Dumbledore. Astoria said a helpless prayer for Flora and Hestia. It was all she could do.

“Professor Sinistra wanted to meet with me,” she told Rhiannon.

“I’ll meet you by the lake, then. I’ve got to say goodbye to Professor Lupin.”

“I’ll see you then.”

Astoria had been going back and forth all morning. Once again, she was in the dungeons. It would be the last time. Every little action she took crowded the feeling in her chest. This is the last time, this is the last time, and this is too... She hadn’t even been to her favourite location in the castle, the Astronomy Library, ever since the Headmaster was killed.

Professor Sinistra was sitting in a chair in the very corner of the room, even though she had plenty of open space to sit elsewhere. She was reading a roll of parchment with Ministry letterhead so long that it fell over her lap and onto the floor, unperturbed by the presence of the Bloody Baron, who was circling the room and moaning in anguish. Astoria almost walked right through him when she came in and apologised, though he did not seem to hear her in his agony.

“I’m glad you could make it, dear. I meant to show you the last book in the _Legilimency_ series,” said Professor Sinistra over the sound of the Baron’s clanking chains.

“But Professor, I only returned the fourth volume on account of –– of the Headmaster. I had only read the first chapter of it. There’s no way I would be able to read the fifth.”

“Do you recall that I told you the fifth book is unfinished? It is no more difficult to read than the very first. There is a reason for that,” Professor Sinistra said, handing the book to her.

For being unfinished, it appeared as thick as any of the other four. However, it weighed much less than the others. When Astoria held it in her hands, its cover changed to a doleful black-blue. Rhiannon had described the books as being like “mood rings” when they did this, and Astoria had been too embarrassed to ask her what those really were.

Professor Sinistra haphazardly rolled up the long parchment from the Ministry, and Astoria got the impression that she wasn’t going to bother to read the rest of it.

“As you know, no one ever authorised me to teach you Legilimency. No one ever stopped me, either. But I would be a very sorry teacher if I sent you out into this noisy world without showing you this.”

The Bloody Baron, on cue, began to wail and shake his chains in his trembling hands. Professor Sinistra conjured a stool for Astoria to sit on; they both stayed in the corner out of the Bloody Baron’s path. Astoria wondered why neither the professor nor the spirit bothered to relocate beforehand; he made several more rounds.

“You recall that my friend Glenda taught Jonah and me Legilimency when we were still in school,” said the professor distantly. “You also recall that my Astronomy teacher was murdered by Rabastan during my internship so that I would earn the spot.”

“I do.”

“I refused the position. By then, I had fallen into a state of paranoia and would not leave my home except to go to Azkaban to see my husband. I did not know whom I could trust. When I thought Jonah had died, I stopped leaving the house entirely.”

Astoria had not gleaned this story from any of her Legilimency lessons, Professor Sinistra’s mind having been occupied with the fresher and more salient tragedy.

“But Professor Dumbledore came to visit me no matter the state my house was falling into. It was through him that Severus and I reconnected. It was through him that I started leaving the house again. He would take me on walks to the castle. I talked his ear off. If I learnt anything from being with Dumbledore, it’s that you shouldn’t talk people’s ears off, but he forgave me for that, and I hope you will, too.”

“I don’t mind, Professor,” Astoria said, for she was presently wishing she still had hours upon hours to talk with Professor Sinistra.

“Well, Dumbledore offered me the position again.”

“And… you refused again,” Astoria said, “which is quite understandable.”

“Yes. But the second time, he put me on the spot. He was not afraid to make me uncomfortable, and he told me that it was not my sorrow over Professor Kleinhardt’s death but my fear that was preventing me from achieving my goals. He said it wasn’t becoming for a Slytherin to give up on their dreams. And he gave me the first four books that I have been giving to you, to further improve my Legilimency and reduce my sense of paranoia.”

“That was very thoughtful of him.”

“Indeed it was. I had become confident enough that I took the position not long after Jonah’s apparent death. It became an outlet for me. And Legilimency became my cushion. Yet we both know it failed me again, and I blamed myself, as you were foolishly blaming yourself for the death of the Headmaster at that funeral. It is so easy to turn against yourself as a Legilimens. I could find no balance between paranoid self-preservation and self-hatred. Just after Professor Dumbledore was reinstated as Headmaster, after Umbridge left… he gave me the final book that now lies in your hands. He had saved it all that time, not wanting to distress me needlessly. But he knew the place I was in, and he sensed my desperate reliance on the art that had consumed me.”

“I take it that this lesson will be the most important of all?” Astoria asked with an anxious smile, readying her wand at the mysterious book.

“Yes, Astoria, it will be.”

It felt wrong for her to be using the tools passed down from Professor Dumbledore. Astoria felt like a walking crime. But Professor Sinistra was waiting.

“ _Legilimens_.”

> _This was supposed to be_ Legilimency in Practice: Volume V _._ _My publisher is very angry with me. He has refused to publish it and has made me pay back the advance on this book, but I simply must reflect on what I have Seen. Therefore, this book has been made solely by hand, and you, dear reader, are holding the only copy I have been able to create in my mental devastation. This is not so much a book anymore but my own diary. My own sorrows. Maybe someone will read it and understand me someday._
> 
> _Much has happened since the publication of my previous volume. Indeed, scholars in the art of Legilimency are clamouring for the final volume, and I cannot pretend that I am capable of making it. I am unable, in my good conscience, to contain that much power within a book as I had planned. You, dear reader, will absolutely have to learn to master it alone._
> 
> _What I have Seen has frightened me. I do not know what to do. Anything I try to change will result in the same end. I would have led a happier life if I had not had this prophecy, if it had not been so close to home. I ask, reader, that you take this message to heart more than anything else you have garnered from these volumes. As you advance in Legilimency, and seek to know the wills and inner thoughts of others, you must take special care of yourself. Knowledge will not give you happiness. As I warn you, I do admit, as both a master of Legilimency and a possessor of the Inner Eye, that the former has never caused me quite as much heartbreak as the latter. Simply be warned of what you seek. That is all I ask. I cannot finish this series as planned in light of the mental burden this prophecy has placed on me. I have been married and have started a family. I have a peaceful home. I have a peaceful home, and I can find nothing wrong with our family. I do not know where this will go wrong, or when. I love my family. I will always love my family._
> 
> _I bid you farewell._

With relief, Astoria exited the dread book. She looked at Professor Sinistra, hoping that they would talk about what she had read and help her clarify her conflicting feelings. Astoria did not know, after having drowned in the final volume, whether she desired the blissful ignorance with which her parents had always hoped to protect her, or the knowledge and power over others she could attain with Legilimency. Surely there was some place in between, a place between her fear of being left in the dark and this author’s fear from knowing too much.

“What should I do, Professor? I thought I was becoming quite skilled,” Astoria said desperately, but she saw in Professor Sinistra’s shining eyes that she would not sway Astoria in one way or another.

“What do you think you should do?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you, Professor. It’s very hard to stop trying to use Legilimency. I don’t want this skill to stagnate! There’s much more, isn’t there?”

It was her last moments with Professor Sinistra; she should not have been speaking so irritably.

“There _is_ much more, and there is much more room to fail. Do not forget that Theodore and Draco both knew of the command to kill Dumbledore, and that went right under my nose as well. I am dealing with that today –– trying not to consider it another fatal mistake of mine. We all overestimate our power, and then blame ourselves for not saving the world. Sometimes, the further we excavate, the less we know. Based on your reaction, I can tell that you went into the spell at full force when I had already _told_ you that it was as easy to read as the first book! There’s much more information to be gained on the surface and figured out for yourself than by robbing somebody of their most secret fears.”

“Then this was a test‽” Astoria asked, still upset that this was how Professor Sinistra was choosing to spend their last day together. “And I failed it?”

“No, Astoria. I am telling you this so that you learn from your mistakes here, and not where it may matter. You may certainly try again, for this is only a book, and not a human being,” the professor said sombrely. “Do not hurt the book this time.”

Astoria noticed that the book was aswirl with colours –– an angry russet mixed in with the heavy blues, a light shiver travelled down its spine. She readied her wand once more, hoping to receive a reassuring look from Professor Sinistra, but the greater witch had shut her eyes completely in some sad meditation.

“ _Legilimens_ ,” Astoria whispered, finding at once that controlling her power meant controlling her curiosity.

> _My baby boy… How could the Inner Eye be so cruel to me? How could it bestow this horrible curse? It lies to me! Oh, why can’t it ever be true that the Eye lies… No matter what I do as your mother, it will end the same. If only you knew how much I loved you._

Astoria now left the book as fast as she possibly could. She finally understood where the line should be between knowledge and ignorance. Gwendela Bagshot was the mother of the Dark warlock, Gellert Grindelwald, and her own Inner Eye must have shown her his reign of terror, leaving her with a sense of helplessness –– the weight of which Astoria could not imagine.

“With a combination of Legilimency and the Inner Eye, Gwendela and her son Gellert achieved the closest thing to omniscience that humans possibly can. I would fancy to say it ruined their lives, albeit in different ways,” Professor Sinistra said. “I often regret not being more powerful, since I am constantly blaming my Legilimency’s shortcomings for my losses. Sometimes I think it would be better if I did not have this ability at all, but I know that isn’t true. It isn’t true for you, either, Astoria. This feat can protect you if you know how to use it.”

“I’ll use it the right way, Professor,” she declared. “If I don’t control my Legilimency, I’ll hate myself. More than I hate anyone who’s lied to me.”

“Very good, Astoria,” Professor Sinistra said, and she took the book from her.

Professor Sinistra did not thereafter hesitate to leave the cold, dark dungeons for the sunny grounds again, and from the top step outside the castle, they looked down upon the many Greengrasses still socialising. Astoria spotted Rhiannon’s strawberry-blonde curls bouncing in the sunlight, sharing the broomstick Professor Sinistra had bought her with Max Lazenby’s four-year-old brother. A few of Astoria’s distant relatives were glancing at Rhiannon judgmentally, as though no broomstick belonged so close to where someone had just been laid to rest. Astoria felt in her heart that Headmaster Dumbledore would not mind it in the slightest. Rhiannon was only trying to distract the small children on the grounds from their parents’ crying.

“I’m glad I already took the Astronomy O.W.L. I don’t know what it will be like at the Ministry,” Astoria said, waiting for the signal to leave.

“You’re not taking those at the Ministry, are you?” Professor Sinistra asked anxiously.

“Er, that’s where they’re being held, so that’s where I’ll be.”

“But that isn’t until late July.”

“I know, I’ll make sure I keep up my studies––”

“No, Astoria, that’s not what I’m saying,” Professor Sinistra said.

Almost instantly, Professor Sinistra walked straight down to the lake, ignoring the path. Astoria followed, but she was not as fast on account of her reluctance to step in the soggy parts of the grass. It looked like the professor was making a beeline towards Astoria’s parents.

Professor Sinistra quickly grabbed Mr Greengrass’s attention, saying something about the Ministry. With one hand, she pointed to Albus Dumbledore’s tomb. With her other, she retrieved the charred remnants of not one, but several Howler letters from her pocket, and showed the mess to Mr Greengrass. Astoria read her lips.

“Rabastan.”


End file.
